Out of Mournhold - Part Three
by celestinaskym
Summary: Nearly two years after the disaster in the Clockwork City, the people of Morrowind are furious with Fen's attempts to convince them of the falsity of the Tribunal. Exhausted, she embarks for the frozen island of Solstheim in the north, anxious for a change, only to discover herself caught in the middle of a dark prophecy once more.
1. Chapter 1

The sky overhead was inky blank, not even the stars visible, only punctuated by the snow that drifted downward. A middle-aged man stood in the centre of a silent village of wooden houses, leaning on a carved wooden cane and staring up at the penetrating blackness of the sky. His hair was pale blond, graying with age, and there were lines on his face that were deeper than they would have been normally. His brow was furrowed, his breath rising in clouds above his face as he stared upward.

A second man approached, his hair white as the snow that fell around them and hanging long upon his back. His eyes were like chips of ice.

"You have seemed on edge lately, Korst," the second man said, and the one called Korst Wind-Eye did not turn, but continued to stare up at the dark sky.

"The stars have not been visible for weeks," he said. "Every night is cloudless, yet it is also starless. This is a malevolent omen." The second man joined Korst in staring up at the sky, and his expression, too, was troubled. He did not often take much stock in fortune-telling and omen-reading, but he trusted Korst and knew when the shaman was worried.

"An omen of what?"

"I cannot say. But it is worrying." Korst finally lowered his gaze to look at the second man. "I fear our days of solitude here are numbered, Chieftain."

"Perhaps they are," the chieftain replied. "But we will do what we can to protect this village from harm, omens or not." There was a pause. "There has been troubling news from the mainland as of late."

"Oh?"

"They say that the Nerevarine has been crowned Princess of all Morrowind and that two of their Tribunal are dead." Korst turned to the chieftain, confused.

"I never knew you to be one that frets over the affairs of the Dunmer, Tharsten."

"Normally I am not," Tharsten said with a sigh. "But I felt a change in the air here since the news reached us. And if I did, I'm sure you felt an even stronger one."

"There was a _slight _disturbance," Korst admitted. "But quite truly, Chieftain, I am more worried about the absence of the celestial bodies than the petty affairs of Morrowind's Royal Family." Korst gazed at Tharsten steadily, unsmiling. "Good night, Chieftain," he said finally, and he retreated into one of the dwellings, leaving Tharsten standing alone under the inky black sky in the centre of the silent village.


	2. Chapter 2

A young Dunmer woman reading a dirty broadsheet lowered it slowly, grim-faced. She leaned back, rubbing her eyes and letting her head rest on the back of the couch she was curled upon. She heard the door open, and she looked up.

Barenziah had entered the library, clad in a robe of deep crimson, her snowy hair piled atop her head as it usually was.

"I thought I might find you here." Fen didn't reply, just stared down at the broadsheet in her lap, the accusatory words glaring from the heading. "_The Common Tongue _again?"

"They told me they would stop printing about the family," Fen said angrily, crumpling the broadsheet. "I thought that included me as well. I suppose I was wrong."

"There's no reason to go after them about it, Fen."

"No?" Fen replied sharply. "No reason to stop them spreading lies about me to my people?"

"No reason," Barenziah repeated calmly, sitting down on the velvet-cushioned couch adjacent to Fen's. "Morrowind may be a kingdom, Fen, but we have to allow our people freedom to believe what they like or we're no better than Almalexia." Fen closed her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about Almalexia."

"Yes, well, I had a feeling you wouldn't." Fen looked up at her grandmother, her eyes flashing.

"You think this is easy for me?" she demanded, and Barenziah silenced her with a look.

"This is not easy for any of us," the Queen told her. "Least of all you. But you are a leader to these people, and a leader must be strong, despite the strife that may rift her life." Barenziah leaned forward and took the broadsheet from Fen's lap, flattening it on her lap and skimming the words there.

"Was it wrong to do the address last year?" Fen asked, leaning back on her couch, staring up at the green marble ceiling of the library. "I thought it would bring them closure."

"The mind is a fickle thing," Barenziah responded, folding _The Common Tongue _in half. "The people will need time to come to terms with what happened. I do not believe that they are quite ready to accept that their goddess had gone mad."

"How much time do they need?" They stared at one another, Barenziah's penetrating eyes into Fen's.

"You must be patient," Barenziah said finally. "Almalexia is gone. You are not. The time will come when your people will recognize you." Fen did not respond, but lay her head back down on the back of the couch, staring up at the tiled ceiling.

"Sometimes I feel like I have very few allies, Grandmother."

"And that is the life of a leader," Barenziah replied doggedly. "Trust in yourself that you are making the right decisions for your people, and everything will turn out the way it's meant to." She stood. "I'm going to meet Plitinius for tea. Do you care to join us?" Fen shook her head, not breaking her gaze at the ceiling. She was not in the mood to sit with her grandmother's extravagant author companion who had penned the _Real Barenziah _series. The queen clearly sensed this, and she left the library without complaint, leaving Fen alone in the book-lined room.

Fen leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. _The Common Tongue _had a point – she could not remember the last time she had smiled.

_As if that's my fault,_ Fen thought sourly, pulling a throw cushion into her lap and picking at the embroidery. _As if I'm to blame because I see the Clockwork City every time I shut my eyes._ In the past several months, she had discovered that her memories of the incident in Sotha Sil's domain were entirely too vivid, and they had been plaguing her constantly, both awake and asleep, since she returned to the Temple in Mournhold two years ago. It seemed as if every time Fen let her eyes drift closed, she was once again kneeling on the rusted metal floor, surrounded by the sweltering heat of the flames and staring into Julan's empty eyes as Almalexia's laugh danced around her…

Fen threw the pillow, angrily, away from her. It hit a shelf and fell with a soft _thump _to the carpet, frustrating her with out simple it all was. Julan was dead, she was alive. That was it. Fen stood, kicking the low table roughly out of her way, and went to the window on the other side of the library.

The Plaza Brindisi Dorum stretched out below, dominated in the centre by a large fountain and an empty plinth where the statue of Almalexia battling Mehrunes Dagon had once stood.

"Are you sure about this, Princess?" Effe-Tei had asked her as they had stood, hooded, in the rain, watching the workers take down the last bits of the statue.

"We don't need any more reminders of what she did to this city," Fen had murmured in reply, and the Argonian was silent after hat.

It was just beginning to grow dark outside the library, and the Plaza was thick with people making their way back to their homes in Godsreach after the day's toil. Fen leaned against the sill, watching them, trying, unsuccessfully, to pick out faces in the crowd.

Barenziah was right. The people were fickle, and it was infuriating to Fen. When she had climbed down from Red Mountain, they loved her. Then she told them what had happened in the Clockwork City and they hated her. Now they spent their time speculating over her melancholy moods, wondering perhaps if she was a secret member of some sort of Nordic coven. She hated to think of the people as a single unit that was so painfully subject to persuasion, but only a few words from the priests of the Tribunal Temple had pulled them into believing that Fen had brutally slaughtered Almalexia with a more sinister motive.

Fen stretched her right hand out flat on the smooth marble sill, studying the two rings that glinted in the dusky evening light. There was Moon-and-Star, as elegant as ever, with its smooth curved moon and white-gold star, as perfect as it had looked the day it had dropped into her hands in the Cavern of the Incarnate. And just below it, a ring that was battered and scruffy in comparison, made of a scratched metal band and set with a single green stone. The stone had once been alight with a constant, faint motion, though ever since First Seed it had been dark and still. Then on the finger beside it, her Royal Signet ring, emblazoned with the seal of Morrowind's ruling family, looking gaudy and outlandish compared to the other two. Fen slipped the Signet ring off her finger and into the pocket of her robe, frowning.

_It's all so pointless now, _she thought grimly, letting her eyes drift up above the city walls to the dusty pink sky. _It's absolutely pointless._


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't care if we don't have a claim there, I want them _out_." King Hlaalu Helseth curled his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the fine mahogany table, making a few of the scrolls near the edge slide off onto the carpeted floor. Duke Vedam Dren, sitting to Helseth's left, rubbed his eyes exhaustedly.

"There isn't anything we can do," the duke tried, for the third time, to explain. "Morrowind holds no authority over Solstheim. The Imperials are perfectly within their rights to settle there."

"What do they want with Solstheim, though?" Helseth snarled. "It's a wasteland. There's nothing there."

"Then why is it so important that the East Empire Company stays out of it?" Fen asked sharply from her seat to her father's right.

"Who's to say they haven't found something?" Helseth demanded, turning to face his daughter. "What if they're planning something, and they're using that chunk of ice in the sea to prepare for an attack on Morrowind?"

"Enough of this," Duke Dren said, pushing pack from the table. "I didn't travel here from Ebonheart to listen to your rambling paranoia, Helseth." Duke Dren stood, and the seven advisors that had accompanied him from Vvardenfell stood as well.

"Stop," Helseth said, quickly getting to his feet as the Duke moved toward the door. "Stop – this is a serious issue, Dren! I don't want the Imperials anywhere _near _that island!"

"It's too late for that, Helseth. Let it go." Helseth lowered his arm, his eyes narrow as the duke and his entourage filed out of the reception chamber.

"You know why there's an Imperial Fort on Solstheim, don't you?" Barenziah asked from the opposite end of the table. Helseth turned sharply.

"What?"

"It's a fort for criminals, Hlaalu. They send rapists and murderers to Fort Frostmoth so they don't need to worry about having them in prisons here. That's the only reason."

"Then why is the East Empire Company building a damn _colony _there?" Helseth demanded furiously, kicking the door shut.

"The families of the soldiers?" one of Helseth's advisors suggested halfheartedly, and the king's face turned livid.

"Out!" he shouted, and his advisors quickly stood, gathering up their papers. "Get out!" They hurriedly exited the reception chamber, leaving it empty save for Helseth, Barenziah, and Fen. Helseth kicked a chair angrily out of the way and sat down at the head of the table, agitatedly rubbing his eyes.

"There's nothing of value in Solstheim," Barenziah told him, gracefully rising out of her seat and resting a wizened hand on his shoulder. "Focus on Morrowind right now. That's all we need from you." He pushed her arm away and yanked the door open, leaving it ajar as the click of his boots echoed down the hall. Barenziah stared after him a moment, her hand on the back of his vacated chair, then moved around and sat down in it. Fen stared at the table littered with scrolls and looked up at the high windows of the chamber, which were thrown open to try and tempt in the breeze. During this time of year, Mournhold was notoriously warm, and the tall windows in nearly every corridor did little to help it.

Fen reached forward, pulling one of the scrolls toward her. It was a map of Solstheim, dug out from the cartography archives in the library. Fen studied the map closely, running her fingers along the jagged shoreline ridged with tiny black triangles to represent trees. _…that chunk of ice in the sea…_

"We'll be expected to sup with Duke Dren and his entourage before they return to Vvardenfell," the Queen was saying serenely, gesturing to a page that stood silently in the corner of the room. The page hurried over and began to assist Barenziah in rolling up the scrolls and filing away the papers so they could be returned to Mournhold's Hall of Records.

"That will make for an awkward meal," Fen returned grimly, rolling up the map and handing it to the page.

"And that's what rulers and politicians do," her grandmother replied serenely. "Make awkward and uncomfortable situations productive. Perhaps your father will get some bounty on Solstheim after having another go at it over dinner."

"I wouldn't be quite that optimistic about his diplomatic skills, Grandmother."

"Enough. He is still your king and father, and he deserves your respect." The page, his arms full of teetering files and rolls of paper, bobbed to excuse himself and clicked off down the hall. "I have a meeting with the curator of the Museum of Artifacts and Azura knows how long that will take, that woman loves the sound of her own voice. We'll talk especially long tomorrow. Have you finished those books I gave you yet?"

"Nearly."

"See that you have them done by tomorrow, then. We have much to talk about." Barenziah rested a firm hand on her granddaughter's shoulder, then turned and quit the chamber, leaving the heavy wooden door ajar. Fen stared around at the huge, empty table before her, then up at the long curtains blowing serenely in the faint zephyr that drifted in. She rose slowly from her seat, breathing a heavy sigh, and went out the open door.

The reception chambers where Helseth had his meetings were all grouped around a small garden, connected to one another by a covered walkway. Visitors were frequent to this part of the palace, and every now and then some diplomat from Narsis or Cyrodiil would click by on the stone tiles in their fine heeled boots, trailed by a number of attendants and guards.

"Princess," a passing page said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment before going on his way. Fen watched him continue down the covered walkway, then turn into an indoor hall and out of sight.

It seemed as if she had longed to be in this palace again for ages, and now that she was here it felt all wrong. When she had pictured this life in her head, there were frequent trips back to Vvardenfell to see Julan, spending days at a time learning to hunt with him and Shani in the Grasslands. And he would visit the palace in Mournhold – he would complain about the indulgence and greed of the settled Dunmer, but would appreciate it all the same. They would sit on the carpets in the family's library, dignity forgotten, going through old books and struggling to keep their voices down from laughter. And Julan would join her on her daily visits to Barenziah's apartments, fiercely debating philosophy and metaphysics with them, and commenting to Fen on how remarkable her grandmother was, to which Fen would smile and agree.

She pushed away from the doorway and set off beneath the shade of the pergola toward the Upper Hall of the palace. The gardeners had grown ivy along the top of the walkways, and it curled around the pillars and hung down in graceful tendrils, swaying slightly as she passed them. The sun beat down on the garden to her left, the Timsa-Come-By looking bleached and strange in the light.

Fen went into the cool, tiled halls of the main palace complex, following a series of corridors and nodding in acknowledgement to the guards and maids that bowed and curtsied when she passed. She reached the stairwell, with its tall, sheerly-curtained windows and sweeping iron-railed staircase and climbed them, absentmindedly glancing out the open windows at the courtyards below the palace as she went. Two guards outside the grand doors into the Upper Hall took hold of their elegant handles and swung them open to admit her.

The Upper Hall served as the privy chambers for the Royal Family. The apartments of Barenziah, Helseth, and Fen were all here, as well as the smaller, private family library, a low-ceilinged dining room where they supped when there were no visiting diplomats to deal with, and a few smaller drawing rooms and parlours. It was only visited by the family themselves and the guards and maids. It was something of a surprise, therefore, for Fen to turn into the blue-candlelit corridor where her chambers were and nearly run headlong into the Lord Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple.

"Archcanon Drin," Fen said, her surprise quickly turning into distaste. Since the incident in the Clockwork City, Fen and Gavas Drin had not spoken personally, but both had publically denounced the another as power-hungry liars. She glanced over his shoulder and saw that he was attended by two glaring High Ordinators. _How in Azura's name were they allowed up here?_

"Princess Fenara," Drin replied coldly, his dark eyes flitting across her face and narrowing in dislike. "What a coincidence. I was just looking for you."

"In my family's private quarters rather than a reception chamber, I see."

"You'll find, _Princess, _that not every arrogant s'wit in this palace is an insipid whelp that does naught but lick your father's boots."

"And you'll find that men who disrespect my family and my standing among my people are not welcome in my home," Fen snapped, gesturing behind her. Two of the Palace Guards appeared almost instantly. "Escort the Archcanon out of the Palace," she instructed, her eyes never leaving Drin's face. "And see that only members of the Royal Family are permitted into these chambers."

"I came here to speak with you, Princess, and I will not leave until I have done just that."

"What could you possibly have to say to me that hasn't already been said, Drin?" Fen asked, holding out a hand to stop the guards.

"If you'd be so kind as to show me to a chamber where we can talk, I'd be more than happy to tell you." They were both silent for a time, glaring at one another. Then Fen gave the Lord Archcanon a curt nod and led the way across the Upper Hall to a small drawing room.

"You will leave your Ordinators downstairs, where the rest of the public waits." She exchanged a dark glare with both the Archcanon's guards. "They know full well they are not welcome here, and neither are you."

"My guards will enter with me."

"Then you are free to return to the Temple without an audience." Drin frowned, his eyes little more than red slits. He gave the Ordinators a sharp look, and they bowed and dutifully trooped out of the Upper Hall. Fen entered the drawing room, with a wide open window that overlooked the public courtyard. A small round table with two thick oaken chairs on either side stood before the window, and Fen gestured for the priest to sit, then for the guards to close the door, leaving them alone. Noise bubbled up from the window on the warm breeze, indistinguishable voices of pages and courtiers and, farther off, the distant babble of merchants and shoppers from the Great Bazaar. Fen sat down across from Gavas Drin on the cushioned wooden chair, and did not speak, but fixed him with an expectant gaze.

"There has been a…certain level of animosity between your supporters and those of the Temple as of late," he said finally.

"As it's been for three years, and as it will continue to be."

"And do either of us really want it to continue to be that way?" Drin paused, placing his long fingers together, one at a time. "The Dunmer have been worshipping the Tribunal for hundreds of years, and you suddenly yank out the carpet from beneath them and tell them that two of their three gods are dead. Then you wonder why no one seems to support you."

"I'm not an idiot, Drin," Fen replied coldly. "I don't pretend to be confused about my lack of support in Mournhold."

"But what have you done to remedy it? You've waited about in this palace and hoped that they will soon come around. You need to act if you want them to follow you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fen snapped. "All you've done since the Clockwork City is tell everyone who will listen that I'm a heretic and a liar and that Almalexia continues to live peacefully in her temple."

"I tell you because you and I need the same thing, Princess. I believe Lord Vivec told you once why he suppresses the Apographa?" Fen did not reply, and Drin went on. "The slightest doubt in the power of the Tribunal is like a festering wound. It will gradually spread, and soon no one will trust our word. We must have full support or no support at all. And if we have the support of the Nerevarine, we have the support of all Morrowind."

"So what do you want me to do?" Fen asked coldly.

"I want you to publically admit your lies and embrace the Temple. Tell the people that you slew Lady Almalexia in the Clockwork City as a heretic, but you have realized your wrongdoings and repent, and join in Holy celebration of the Tribunal once more, and you urge your valiant supporters to do the same." Fen gave the Archcanon a dark look.

"That I will never do."

"It will stop the dissent and the threats of riot and anarchy. It will put you in a good light once more. It will make your people happy and pious. They will love you again." Fen shook her head.

"It's against everything I stand for as their Nerevarine and Princess. My people include the Ashlanders, have you thought about that? And the Telvanni wizards that take no stock in modern Dunmer gods. And the Daedra worshippers that are forced to hide in secret and attack any who enter their shrines for fear of persecution. My people include every man and mer in Morrowind, and I must think for every one of them, not just your Temple." She stood. "If that's all, Lord Archcanon, I think you'd best be going. I don't want to encourage visitors to the court to come straight up to my family's private hall so long as they have coin and guards behind them."

"You are making a grave mistake, Princess Fenara."

"Thank you for your concern," she replied simply, crossing to the door and pulling it open. "You may escort the Lord Archcanon back down to the courtyard," she told the guards stationed outside. Gavas Drin rose slowly from the table, fixing her with a withering glare.

"You'll not rid the Tribunal Temple from this land, Nerevar, no matter how hard you try." Her temper flared, and Fen lashed out, her hand curling around Gavas Drin's bony wrist and squeezing, hard. He gasped, and she resisted the urge to burn him with a spell.

"I am _not _Nerevar," she hissed, pulling him close. "Something you'd do well to remember." She released him, pushing the priest's arm away from her and turning her back on him. "Now get out of my sight, and never breach these chambers again."

The priest gave her a withering glare, rubbing his arm as he retreated down the hall, and Fen tuned back to the window, staring out at the dreamy peacefulness of the courtyard, thinking of how wrong it all felt. She realized her hands were clenched, and she forced herself to relax them, resting her head against the cool stone wall and letting her eyes fall closed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Many would argue that her madness lessened any greatness she had," Queen Barenziah said, taking a serene sip of wine and setting the cup down with a small _clink _upon the tiled table. Fen absentmindedly swilled the dark drink in her own goblet. _Almalexia was mad,_ she thought to herself.

"I don't think it was madness at all," she said. "It was plain brilliance and strategy, and Potema's enemies called her mad so they could have a viable reason to despise her." A breeze whispered by, rustling the fine white hairs piled atop Barenziah's head, and Fen let her gaze drift out over the terrace they were seated on, overlooking the palace's ornate gardens that, at this time of the year, were overflowing with all manner of flowers and climbing ivy and gnarled trees. In the colder months, they would sit in Barenziah's apartments to have these meetings, but in Mournhold's notoriously warm summers, they met every day on the balcony over the gardens to lunch at the stone table there and talk.

"A mother's love for her child is not brilliance," the queen argued as a servant silently appeared behind them and refilled their goblets from a silver pitcher. Fen watched the girl leave and return with a tray of lemon cakes on a bed of parsley. "It's natural. Potema merely acted out of love for her son, and out of that grew her insanity and her affinity to the necromantic arts."

"It was more than loving her son," Fen replied, swirling the wine in her cup. "It was wanting him to be the emperor above all else. She threw her entire life into it, not just because she loved him, but because she wanted power, and she knew that if Uriel ruled, she would be Tamriel's true emperor."

"But," Barenziah began. "You forget that –"

"Your Majesty," came a voice from the door into the palace, and Fen and Barenziah turned together. A nervous-looking page stood in the doorway, holding a number of rolled scrolls in his arms. "His Grace King Helseth has asked that you review the new maps of the surrounding provinces before they are published, as he claims that you have a greater affinity for cartography than he."

"I thought it was clear that I am not to be interrupted during my visits with my granddaughter," Barenziah told the page, rather irritatedly, waving him over. "Why must these maps be approved by the court?"

"They are to be published in the Empire's new guide of Tamriel, and the Emperor personally requested that the information for each province be personally reviewed by its leader."

"Very well," Barenziah said with a sigh. "Hand them over and tell my son I will look over them and return them to him when I am finished." The page handed her the maps and she returned to the table. "This shouldn't be done by your father and me," she muttered. "This is steward's work. But the good emperor commands, and we obey."

"I'm working on changing that," Fen told her, and Barenziah offered her a faint look as she flipped through the maps. "Once all these people stop hating me I can focus on ousting the Empire from Morrowind." Fen watched as the queen unrolled the first map, of the island of Solstheim. It was barely detailed, only showing a few mountain ranges and what looked like an Imperial fort. Fen propped her chin on her hands, staring at the upside-down map under her grandmother's elbow. _That chunk of ice in the sea…_

"I want to go to Solstheim." Barenziah looked up at her.

"Tell me why." At that moment, Fen felt a sudden, overwhelming love for her grandmother. Any other person would have called her mad, but Barenziah merely listened, unfazed.

"I just…I need time." Barenziah studied her for a moment.

"Do you think it's wise to leave the city now? In light of what happened in the Clockwork City?"

"I think these people need a break from me."

"They'll come to terms with it in time."

"And I don't think they want to see me up until that time." Barenziah paused.

"Solstheim is not a pleasant place, Fen. It isn't somewhere you typically go to find yourself."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." Barenziah leaned forward, closing her warm, gnarled hand over Fen's. "Fen, I went through this once too. Before the Armistice, my parents were killed by the Imperial army and I was sent to Skyrim."

"I know," Fen replied softly. "I read Plitinius's biographies."

"Then you know that I tried to remedy my problems by running from them."

"That's not what I'm doing," Fen insisted. "I just need to spend a while on my own." They gazed at one another for a time, Barenziah unsmiling.

"I understand."

The docks at Ebonheart were awake long before the rest of the world. It was hours until the sun would rise, and yet the seaside town was a confusion of people pushing their way toward the ships, holding crates and sacks over their heads as they went. Fen stood to the side beside Effe-Tei, the court mage, both of them with hoods drawn low over their faces.

"Which one is it?" Fen murmured to Effe-Tei, and he pointed with a long, reptilian finger at what appeared to be the largest of the ships in the bay, bobbing a ways out from the city.

"The _Frost-Sail_," he replied. "Princess, are you sure you wish to travel this way?"

"I'm sure."

"You will be on board with criminals being sent to Fort Frostmoth."

"I've held worse company." The Argonian cast a sidelong glance at her, then reached into his cloak, drawing out a golden brooch in the shape of the Moon-and-Star.

"I had this made for you," he told her, holding it out. "It carries a frost resistance enchantment, and your birthday last year was rather subdued." Fen accepted the brooch, rubbing one thumb along the fine gold curve of the moon.

"Thank you, Effe-Tei," she told him softly, and she pinned it upon the clasp of her cloak, straightening it with two fingers. A horn sounded suddenly, and Fen saw the crew of the _Frost-Sail_ begin to stir into motion. "I should go," she said, and Effe-Tei nodded.

"Be safe, Princess," he said, and she gave him a nod before stepping down onto the docks and joining the throng of passengers. A crewhand helped her onto a small boat alongside a group of fresh and excited-looking young Imperials, and she sat down at the back of the boat, folding her hands in her lap.

"It's going to be great," one was saying excitedly. "I'm going to mine enough ebony to build a manor for my wife."

"I'll mine enough to build a manor for the emperor," another said.

"I'll mine enough to buy Vvardenfell."

"What would you want with Vvardenfell?" the first man quipped. "The only thing on this island are sullen Dark Elves and ashstorms!" The group chuckled together, and the boat pushed off the dock and drifted slowly across the fog-glazed water to the ship itself. Fen turned slightly in her seat to glance back at the dock, though it was impossible to make out Effe-Tei's cloaked figure from here. She turned back toward the ship, drawing her cloak around herself as the Imperials laughed raucously a joke one of them had told.

The rowboat bumped up against the _Frost-Sail_, and Fen followed the Imperials up the ladder on the side of the ship to the deck. She stared out at the water, which was almost impossible to discern from the steel-grey sky, and the floating mists that shrouded its dim surface

"Name?" a tired-looking Redguard with a sheet of parchment asked her, and Fen turned away from the waves of the bay.

"Fedura Rindal," she said, giving the fake name she had used in Mournhold. The Redguard found her name and crossed it off, moving to the group of Imperials that were now speaking loudly about what kind of fireplaces they were going to build in their homes.

The uppermost deck of the _Frost-Sail _was sparsely populated. It seemed most of the passengers had already retreated below decks to settle in for the twenty-two hour journey. Fen was not tired, nor was she in the mood to sit among the prisoners and overzealous opportunists. She climbed up onto the quarter deck, where another figure already stood watching Ebonheart through the darkness. It was an old man, a tattered cloak around his shoulders, his white hair blown back from the cool breeze. Fen studied the man curiously for a moment, then reached beneath her cloak and into the fold of her belt, where she withdrew a small, worn Septim that she had kept there for some time.

"Excuse me," Fen said, approaching him. The man turned, revealing a familiar, careworn face. Fen held out the coin to him. "I think we've met. Did you give this to me?" The man glanced down at the drake in Fen's palm and he looked up at her, smiling.

"I did. It is an honour, Lady Nerevarine." The Buoyant Armiger stepped back from the rail and bowed deeply to her.

"Thank you," Fen told him, glancing around to be sure no one had seen. The only people that seemed to still be on deck were the crew. "You're bound for Solstheim?"

"Aye," the Armiger told her with a nod. "There was no place for me at Ghostgate, and it took a visit from the Nerevarine to teach me that." The ship lurched suddenly and began to move, almost sluggishly, away from Ebonheart. "Perhaps there will be a place for me up at Frostmoth."

"From what I've heard, Solstheim is not the most forgiving of islands."

"All the same, it'll be better than moping about at a stronghold that isn't even needed anymore, eh?" The Armiger held his hand out to her, still leaning on the railing with the other. "Wulf."

"Fen," she replied, taking it.

"And what brings the Nerevarine to Solstheim, Fen?"

"I needed a break from Morrowind." She paused. "Or rather, Morrowind needed a break from me."

"That's what I've heard," Wulf replied, taking a flask from his hip and flipping the lid open.

"I thought telling the truth would improve their opinion of me," Fen replied sourly, leaning on the railing and watching Ebonheart drift away into the fog. "But it's only made them hate me more."

"Aye," Wulf replied, taking a swig from his flask. "The truth always seems to irritate people, for some reason. I could never figure it out. Eventually I just stopped telling it."

"Who did you tell it to that angered more easily than the people in Morrowind?" Fen asked him wryly.

"I told it to myself," Wulf replied easily. "Told myself that my daughter was dead and moaning about it wouldn't help." He took another drink from his flask. "Then I just stopped believing it. It's easier that way. To just ignore the things that you've got quarrel with." Fen didn't reply, but joined him in staring out off the stern at the empty fog that now succeeded the ship. _I tried to remedy my problems by running from them. _

_But that's not what I'm doing,_ she assured herself silently, wishing she could believe it. _I'm not running from anything. _A gust of wind sent the cloth of her cloak billowing against her from behind, and she turned her head to stare across the ship to the north, where the early-morning darkness and the fog veiled Solstheim from view.


	5. Chapter 5

The _Frost-Sail_ shuddered to a halt, waking Fen from a restless sleep. The first thing that struck her was the cold – it seeped through the wooden walls of her cabin and through the fur-lined cloak she had wrapped herself in, curling around her like an icy embrace and making her skin prickle beneath her robe. She sat up in her cot and glanced around – the oil lamp overhead was swinging, throwing spiky shadows across the four close walls, and the ship around her was bobbing with heavy, moaning creaks. Fen pulled her grandmother's locket from beneath her robe and clicked it open – it was nearly two in the morning. They must have reached Solstheim by now.

Fen pulled herself away from the scarce comfort of the little wooden cot and went to her bag, pulling out a pair of fur-lined cloth gloves. Her grey hands looked small and cold in the dimness of the cabin, and she shivered as she pulled the gloves over them.

She put her hood up as she climbed up onto the deck, and was instantly grateful for it. A blast of cold air hit her so fiercely that she thought she might topple over, and she winced as she joined the crowd of passengers that had gathered by the port side. The only ones speaking were the talkative Imperials, who were some ways away pushing one another out of excitement. All the others were standing silently, staring, grim-faced at the sight before them.

Up ahead, perched precariously on the edge of a lopsided hill, stood Fort Frostmoth. It was built in exactly the same fashion as the Imperial forts on Vvardenfell, though its stones looked cold and foreboding in the darkness, toting flying banners that were tattered from the harsh winds and only illuminated by a few swaying lanterns. To the right of the fort, the hill sloped steeply down and straight into the icy sea. To the left, the land yawned into gaping darkness, shielded by dark evergreens that stood taller than the fort itself. The sky overhead was completely black, no stars in sight.

"Bring her in!" one of the crewmen shouted, and the grating of an anchor being thrown over was heard. The _Frost-Sail_ lurched suddenly, and the people standing on the deck took several steps to steady themselves, Fen included. She heard gangplanks being drawn out, guards shouting orders, the passengers muttering amongst themselves. They began to shuffle slowly toward the edge of the ship, and Fen joined the throng, keeping her eyes down as she went down the gangplank and stepped onto the icy stones of the dock.

"You here to join up?" a guard standing by the gangplank asked her gruffly, and she shook her head. "Get outta the way then," he snapped, and Fen stepped aside as the rest of the passengers made their way onto the dock. It was a rectangular platform built out over the freezing water, laden with crates and barrels and coils of rope and lit by two spitting torches. A narrow stone bridge led to the path that wound up the hill to the fort.

"One warmblood does not belong," a snakelike voice behind her hissed suddenly. Fen turned and saw an Argonian man standing there, bundled in thick, fur-lined clothes and studying her critically. "Which one could it be?"

"What?" Fen replied coolly.

"You heard me, warmblood," he said sharply. "This isn't Wayrest. You don't come here for vacation. You come here if you have a death wish."

"I can handle myself," Fen told him icily, turning away.

"Get out while you can, warmblood!" the Argonian cackled as Fen started across the bridge behind the criminals being sent up to the fort.

Fen was exhausted, having hardly slept soundly on the ship. She had brought her old tent with her, figuring it would be unlikely that she would be shown hospitality at Fort Frostmoth.

If anyone had been less receptive to Fen than the people of Morrowind as of late, it was the Imperials. Since the end of the Vvardenfell Crisis, she had openly denounced the Empire and her intentions to rid them from Morrowind, and they were anything but pleased. Fen was almost positive the renegade soldiers of Fort Frostmoth wouldn't know who she was, but as she walked through the stone archway into the courtyard, every sullen eye seemed to be turned on her, each soldier openly staring as she stood amidst them.

"What's your business here?" a haggard-looking guard snapped, seizing her arm. There was a fleshy pink scar over one of his milky-white eyes.

"Why would I state it to the likes of you?" Fen replied, pulling her arm out of his grasp and fixing him with a cool glare.

"You've no business in this fort, Dark Elf. This land is claimed by the Empire."

"Solstheim is claimed by no one," she said. "I've just as much right to be here as you." The soldier glared at her through his one seeing eye, hate etched on every line of his face.

"Then see how much you're welcomed here, you Dark Elf trash," he growled, and in an instant Fen had struck him across the face with a fire spell on her fingertips, sending him stumbling to the ground with his hands over his burned face. "You _bitch_!" he shouted as Fen turned and stepped quickly away. "You fucking Elf _cunt_!" She sped up as she crossed the courtyard, heading straight for the curved archway on the other side, knowing full well that every soldier on the exterior of the fort was watching her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she emerged into the cool, dark night.

The forest before her was complete blackness. A wolf howled in the distance, and chills that had nothing to do with the cold raced up Fen's arms. She glanced up – the moons, too, were gone along with the stars, rendering the night utterly and completely lightless. Fen found a flat space a short ways away from the fort and started pulling out the poles and ropes and canvas of her tent with quivering hands.

It was the screaming that awoke her.

Fen's eyes opened suddenly, and she heard them filling the night air, high and shrieking. There was a sound like stone crumbling, and the canvas of Fen's tent whispered as something raced past it, toward the forest.

She sat upright as the tent shook again. Through the thin walls, she could see the faint pink glow of dawn. She had wrapped herself in her cloak and all the furs she could find, and as she rose from her bedroll the icy cold closed around her like a fist.

Fen snatched up her gloves from the floor beside the smoking firepit and ducked outside, her boot crunching down into fresh snow. She turned to face the fort, and the sight that met her eyes sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

The archway she had come through to get to the forest was in ruin, a heap of fallen masonry and splintered wood. Smoke curled up in thick tendrils from the towers, where fire leapt from the windows. Fen could see bodies strewn throughout the courtyard.

She pulled her gloves on as she quickly crossed the snow to the fort. Blood stained the snow everywhere she looked – bodies lay violently mauled to pieces all around her. One soldier had been thrown into the well in the centre of the yard, so that the support beams pierced his heart and left him to hang there, his eyes empty and staring and blood dripping steadily from one finger.

"Don't just stand there!" someone cried suddenly, and Fen saw a man tugging on the arm of a dead soldier, one of his eyes bruised shut and his face smeared with blood. "Help us! Do something!" Fen stared around. The wounded cried weakly from where they lay in the snow, and a few soldiers that appeared to be unharmed were moving among them, kneeling down and checking for a pulse. Fen glanced down and saw a severed arm in the snow before her, sticky with blood. She stepped over it, crossing the yard to a strong-jawed woman that was surveying the damage.

"Are you the captain of this fort?" Fen asked her.

"They took the captain," the woman replied gruffly, turning her fierce eyes on Fen. "The creatures. They took him during battle."

"What creatures?" Fen asked her, remembering the way her tent had moved as if something rushed past it.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, her eyes narrowing.

"That doesn't matter." The soldier narrowed her eyes at Fen, and Fen held her gaze.

"You want to help us?" she asked, and Fen nodded. "Fine. Come with me." The woman led Fen through a door that was hanging to the stone by one hinge, long scratches raking down the wood. Fen stared at it as she passed over the threshold into the interior of the fort.

"You mentioned creatures," she said, glancing around at the general quarters they had entered. The fort had even been attacked here – tapestries were torn from the walls, furniture splintered into ruin, blood smeared along the floor, around a corner, and out of sight. "What were they?"

"Creatures like I never want to see again," the woman told her, turning to face her as two men hurried by, supporting a sobbing third man between them. Fen looked down and realized the third soldier's leg had been torn off, his knee ending in a bloody stump. "They looked a bit like wolves, but…" she shook her head. "I've seen a wolf every day since I came to Frostmoth. Those…_things_ were something else." She leaned forward slightly as another soldier walked hurriedly past them, clutching his arm with his face twisted in agony. "I'd say they were werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Fen repeated, puzzled. She knew that all manner of were-creatures dwelt in Daggerfall, but that was on the opposite end of Tamriel, nowhere near Morrowind. "There are werewolves on Solstheim?"

"There are a great many creatures on Solstheim," the woman told Fen quietly. "Creatures that no one would ever wish to meet. But I've never seen a werewolf on this island. And I never would have imagined a huge pack of them would attack like that. There must have been hundreds. I saw the captain run into battle, but he was gone after that. We haven't found his body, so they must have taken him somewhere." A shadow crossed her face and her eyes narrowed. "My guess is that those savages from the Nord village have something to do with this." Fen glared at the woman coolly. Her time with the Ashlanders had cultivated a distaste for those that passed judgment without cause.

"Have you ever been to this village?"

"No," the woman replied gruffly, going to the remains of a wooden chest and picking through it, looking for something. "It's on the northeastern tip of Solstheim. These Skaal, that's what they call themselves, they're nature-worshippers, and they seem to have a special commune with the creatures of this island. If anyone knows what attacked the fort, it would be them." She straightened up, holding a half-rotted skull that was heavily carved with runes and symbols. "Earn their trust and find out what you can. You may have to remain with them for a while, but I you're up to the task." She held the skull out to Fen. "Here, take this – it was found in one of their tombs. Perhaps they will take it as a sign of good faith." Fen accepted the skull and carefully tucked it away.

"You know," she said coldly to the woman as she started for the door. "It would be wise for you to actually speak to a person once before you label them a savage. You might not even have this problem if it weren't for your petty Imperial prejudices." She turned sharply away and left the soldier standing there, going out into the carnage-streaked courtyard.

The sun had risen behind a thick wall of grey cloud, and it settled over the land with a grim chill as Fen left through the ruined archway and started toward the forest. A gentle hill flanked by trees sloped upward, and sitting at its base was a wide-bellied Nord man with a flask in one hand and a paring knife in the other.

"Hail, wanderer," he said as Fen approached. "You plan to travel the wastes of Solstheim as I do?" Fen nodded. "Keep your wits about you, then. There're worse things in those woods than wolves and bears. Things that want your blood more than anything else in the world."

"What sort of creatures?" Fen asked him, shaking her head as he offered her his flask.

"Terrible things," he replied. "Men the Nords call 'bare-sarks' in the our tongue, because of their insistence on going bare-chested even in the most severe blizzard. They're crazy as they come, friend, and care only for savagery and murder. It is said they are so attracted to death, they make their homes in some of Solstheim's burial barrows. There are the fryse hags, too, mages dedicated to the teachings of Kyne, the widow of the god Shor. Each is a powerful sorceress skilled in the use of frost-based magicka. They're vicious lasses, and view most people as a threat to their beliefs. They've been seen out in the wild, and in a couple of the ice caves."

A cold chill swept through the ruined fort off the sea, and Fen felt gooseflesh rise on her arms despite the heavy cloak she wore. The Nord looked thoughtfully up at the sky. "Blizzard's coming," he muttered, taking another swig of mead.

"How far away is the village?" Fen asked him.

"A fair few hours straight there," he replied. "But it's Solstheim you're traversing, not Cyrodiil. You won't be stopping to pick flowers along a cobblestone path." He chuckled grimly. "Straight north, just follow the Iggnir River up to Lake Fjalding. And good luck."

"Thank you," Fen told him, and she began to climb the hill, her boots gripping to the slick snow as she went. She reached the top just as a heavy gust of wind blew heavily from behind, making her stumble slightly. She regained her footing and glanced up, and the sight took her breath away.

The island of Solstheim spread out before her, stretching far into the distance. The land dipped down into an evergreen-filled valley, the waxy green trees thickly coated in the previous evening's snow. Farther in the distance, jagged mountains rose steeply out of the forest, far taller than the mountains in Vvardenfell and coated with everlasting snow. The Iggnir River spiraled out in front of her, weaving down into the valley and out of sight. The island felt oddly silent, as if the snow had quieted every sound. A lone wolf from somewhere in the forest howled, an eerie noise that echoed off the walls of the valley. The wind whispered past Fen, stinging her ears with its cold.

She slowly pulled her fur-lined hood over her head, still marveling at the sight. She knew Solstheim was completely inhospitable, but its breathtaking beauty was undeniable, even if it was manifested in a strange, eerie way. Fen carefully began her descent into the forest, taking her staff from its place on her back. She felt bulky and strange clad in heavy bearskin boots and a fur cloak, her trappings making noise with every step she took, for so used she was to walking the volcanic Ashlands with a thin robe and summer boots. But it was mercifully warm inside her many layers with Effe-Tei's broach, and for that she was grateful.

Soon Fen had passed under the branches of the evergreens and was enveloped by the cool darkness of the Hirstaang Forest. A narrow deer trail wound around the trunks and out of sight. Fen followed it, her eyes narrowed against the chill. She had barely walked for ten minutes when a sudden rustling in the brush made her pause. Fen only had time to register the low snarl in the shadows before the wolf was upon her, its jaws wide and its enormous paws poised to bring her down.

Taken by surprise, Fen felt the wolf's paws struck her shoulders and slammed her into a tree trunk, its teeth snapping at her. She pressed her hand into the fur at its chest, forcing it backward, and cast a simple drain health spell. The wolf yelped and slackened, falling limply atop her. Fen rolled its body off her and knelt to examine it. Its fur was matted and dirty, its eyes muddy brown and its teeth half-rotted. Solstheim had not been kind to the creature. Fen stood slowly, casting her eyes warily through the low-hanging branches. There didn't seem to be any other movement around, but she proceeded with caution all the same.

The rest of the hour saw little incident for Fen, and soon the trees began to thin and she found herself crossing the land called the Isinfier Plains. There were more hills the climb over here and fewer trees, and the wind came screaming down from the mountains and blasted Fen with all its force as she struggled through the untouched snow. The Nord scout outside Fort Frostmoth had been right – a storm was coming, and it was beginning to show. The clouds churned anxiously, and the air was bitterly cold.

The wolves here were more frequent, and now they were accompanied by bears, monstrous creatures that Fen had never even seen drawings of. They towered above her like bloated, fur-covered Durzogs, their roars reverberating throughout the valley and their colossal clawed paws swiping at her face. They were more difficult to take down than the wolves, and Fen found herself reverting to quick usages of potions more often than she would have liked.

It was only after she managed to take down three of these beasts that she encountered one of the islands more notorious inhabitants. Fen had only just pulled Trueflame from the belly of a bear, its entrails spilling out onto the snow, when a powerful spell just barely missed her, hitting the ground and causing a geyser of ice to erupt there. Fen spun around and saw a simply clothed Nordic woman there, her face lost amid runic tattoos and paintings, a wolf snarling by her side. _A fryse hag,_ she thought, remembering the scout's words.

The hag sent another spell at Fen, and Fen quickly raised a fire shield before her to deflect it. The spell bounced away and Fen let loose a range of God's Fire, enveloping the hag in flame. The snow had finally begun to fall, and it was becoming difficult to see through the thickening flakes. When the blast cleared, the fryse hag was screaming in an archaic tongue, and the wolf suddenly leapt toward Fen.

She pulled Trueflame from her belt and deflected the wolf with a swift curl of her wrist. It sprang away, snarling and spraying blood across the snow, and Fen ducked as another spell from the fryse hag went hurtling overhead. The woman abandoned her spellcasting and ran at Fen, a dagger glinting in her hand. Fen quickly slid Trueflame through the wolf's heart as it leapt at her again, then turned her attention to the fryse hag a second too late. The steel of the Nord's dagger bit through Fen's heavy cloak, slicing along her forearm until Fen managed to shove her away and finish her with a well-placed jab from Trueflame.

Fen pulled her cloak back and rolled up the sleeve of her robe, wincing as the cold cinched her bare arm. It was almost impossible to see now – everything was grey, and snow was shooting down fiercely all around her. She felt light-headed as she examined the long cut on her arm. She had received far worse injuries in the past.

"Don't move," a deep voice behind her suddenly boomed over the blizzard. "We've twenty arrows pointed at your back." Fen froze, her fingers flying to Trueflame at her hip. "Turn around," the voice commanded. "Slowly!" Fen did so, and she saw the vague shapes of men, a large group of them, all with bows strung to kill her. "Who are you?" someone shouted.

"Fen," she called back. A particularly fierce gust of wind rocked her and she stumbled. She could hear the bowstrings tighten despite the wind.

"What business do you have on Skaal hunting ground, Fen?" a man at the front of the group demanded.

"I can only plead ignorance," she called. "I am not from these lands. I wish your people no harm. Truly." She saw a few of the men exchange looks.

"Lower your bows!" the leader finally shouted, and they did. "Come with us," he said gruffly to Fen. "We will take you to our chieftain. He will know how to deal with you." The men closed in a square around her, and she pulled her hood up again, casting a silent healing spell to stitch the wound on her arm.

They walked for nearly an hour through the blizzard, trudging through deep snow and shallow parts of the river and weaving through trees and scrub. Fen's face had lost feeling – the tips of her fingers, even beneath their gloves, were numb, and though she clenched her fur-lined cloak as tightly around herself as she could, the air still bit cruelly at her from all sides, sending deep chills down into her boots.

The hunters began to lead her up a steep hill, the wind bearing down on them from all sides. It howled fiercely through the grey air, resisting their climb with all its might. Fen burrowed more deeply into her hood, her jaw quivering. Soon they had reached the hill's summit, and Fen saw a fair-sized village stood on its top, a village of wooden cottages overlooking the lake far below. She could not see much through the blizzard, however, and the hunters led her straight to the largest building, standing in the centre of town. The door was opened and she stepped inside. It closed after her, shutting out the sound of the relentless snow.

Fen let out a sigh of relief as the warmth of the building enveloped her. The men had not accompanied her inside, and she stepped out of the small foyer, pulling down her hood and gazing around. It seemed to be some sort of hunting lodge – built from sturdy-looking logs and supported by four tall, carved pillars. A rectangular section of floor in the centre of the room was sunken down, cluttered with an ashy firepit and several benches. At the head of the room, a high-backed chair draped with furs stood on a raised dais. A stuffed cliffracer was strung from the ceiling by several thick ropes, its glassy eyes wide and its beak open. It was bigger than any cliffracer Fen had seen on Vvardenfell – its enormous wings scraped the tall pillars on either side of it. The light from the candles danced in its dark glass eyes.

She walked slowly into the room, which was pleasantly warm despite the absence of a fire. Fen pulled off her gloves, staring up at the cliffracer. The hunting lodge was dim, the only light coming from a few iron chandeliers that were covered in melted wax and the three or four candelabras that dotted the walls. Outside, the wind of the snowstorm still howled violently.

Fen heard the door open suddenly, and the blizzard's cries increased tenfold. She turned to see the shapes of three men, silhouetted against the wall of white snow outside. They ducked under the low wooden beams of the foyer and came into the main lodge, giving Fen a proper view – two of them were clad in intricate Nordic armour, their faces mostly covered by the helms they wore. The man between them, however, left his head bare, covered only by thick white hair that hung across his shoulders in braids. His face was pale and weathered, pockmarked with age and scars from battle, his mouth a fierce, downturned line. His eyes were a bright, unnerving blue, and they seemed to stand out from the rest of his face. He stopped several metres away, his gloved hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword at his hip.

"Geric," he said, in a surprisingly strong and steady voice. "Send for Frid to light the fire." One of the guards that had entered with him nodded and passed Fen without looking her, climbing up a set of narrow wooden stairs and out of sight. "So," the man said, taking several strides forward. "The hunters tell me that you were found on our grounds in the storm."

"I am sorry for it," Fen replied. "I am not familiar with these lands."

"Then you should not be here," the man said haggardly. "Solstheim is not a place for the unfamiliar. Especially people of your kind." He frowned.

"The Nords and the Dunmer may have warred in the past, serjo, but I assure you, I hold no prejudice."

"You are very different from the Imperials in the south, then."

"I am." The man studied her, his icy eyes training deeply into hers. A freckled young Nord woman appeared from the stairwell suddenly, going to kneel by the firepit.

"Sit," the old man said, and Fen took a place on one of the benches. The woman muttered a simple fire spell and the firepit crackled into life. She bobbed her head toward the man without looking at him.

"Chieftain," she murmured respectfully.

"Thank you, Frid," he replied, sitting down heavily across from Fen. Frid bobbed her head again and retreated upstairs. "What do you call yourself, stranger?"

"Fen." His cold eyes narrowed.

"An unusual name for a Dark Elf."

"So I've been told." He paused, as if waiting for her to elaborate. She did not.

"I am Tharsten Heart-Fang, chieftain of the Skaal."

"It is an honour, chieftain," Fen told him, inclining her head slightly.

"You are courteous, for an outsider."

"I spent much of my time several years ago among the Ashlanders of Vvardenfell," she replied. "Their ways, too, are very different from my own." She undid the catches of her cloak, letting it slide off her shoulders, and reached for her bag at her feet, carefully drawing out the rotted skull, wrapped in burlap. "I believe this belongs to your people, Chieftain," she said, holding it out to him. Heart-Fang took the bundle and flipped the burlap over, revealing the skull. A sour look crossed his face.

"Where did you find this?"

"It was given to me by the Imperials of Fort Frostmoth," she told him. "They have recently been attacked, and asked if I would travel to your village to speak with you." Fen paused. "Though I have no great love for the Imperials."

"How were they attacked?" Heart-Fang asked skeptically, looking up over the skull at her, his weathered face critical.

"They said it was by wolf-creatures," Fen replied. "I did not see the attack itself, but I saw the carnage it left. No wolf could have unleashed that kind of fury."

"Those soldiers!" Heart-Fang said angrily. "They cut their trees and dig their holes, and have little to show after a day's toil. They do not respect this land or its creatures, and for that, I find them offensive." He shook his head doggedly. "But, though I have no love for them, the Skaal would never do such a thing. We prefer to let the Imperials kill themselves slowly. But these creatures that attacked...these were not wolves of this island." He held out the skull to the guard by the door, who came forward to take it. "Gods curse those Imperials," he remarked fiercely. "They need to learn to leave things as they are. Still, it is good that you have returned this to the Skaal. Perhaps there is hope for you and your kind."

"I would do what I can to restore goodwill between our people, if it was ever there."

"The Imperials in their fort have brought nothing but harm to these lands," Heart-Fang told her, shaking his head as he sat back down. "They cut the trees and dig the earth. They are wasteful, lazy, and careless. They have no comprehension of the Oneness of the land. It is this Oneness from which the Skaal derive our strength, and the Imperials have defiled these lands."

"What is the Oneness?" Fen asked.

"The Oneness is balance," Heart-Fang replied. "It is the balance of our lands, the trees and the waters, wolf and bear. It is from the Oneness that the Skaal derive their power. We have tried time and time again to reconcile with the Imperials, but they are stubborn and refuse to change their ways. Perhaps it is right that you do help to restore the power of the Skaal, as it is your people who have caused the damage."

"I do not call the Imperials family, Chieftain. Far from it."

"The people of Tamriel are one to us," he replied sharply. "They do not understand the way of the earth and the wind." He stood suddenly. "We are wary, but we are not cruel. I will not ask you to brave the blizzard. You may stay in our village until it subsides, but do not harm our people. Speak with Korst Wind-Eye, in the Shaman's Hut. He will give you further instructions. Ledd will take you there," he said, gesturing to the guard by the door.

"Thank you," Fen told him, standing up and drawing her cloak over her shoulders. Heart-Fang did not reply, but sat silently, watching her as she pulled her hood up and followed Ledd to the door.

They found Korst Wind-Eye sitting at the back of his one-room house before the fireplace, a book in his hands and a thick pelt across his lap. He turned as Ledd escorted her in, and Fen saw he was just as old, if not older, than Heart-Fang, but there was much more wisdom in his dark eyes.

"Thank you, Ledd," he said, and the guard nodded and retreated out of the hut, back into the storm. "Greetings to you, wanderer," he said, reaching for a gnarled wooden cane that lay on the floor beside his chair. "Why have you come to our village?" He pulled the pelt aside and slowly raised himself up on the cane, limping slightly as he crossed the hut toward her.

"My name is Fen," she told him. "Your chieftain asked me to come." Wind-Eye gave her a curious look.

"Fen," he repeated slowly. "Are you, perhaps, the Fen that they call the Nerevarine in the south?" She nodded, and he smiled faintly. "I had a feeling I would be meeting you someday, Lady Fen. Please, sit." He gestured to a chair beside his with his free hand and limped over to the sideboard to pour tea. "You've come to Solstheim at an unfortunate time," he told her as she sat down before the fire. "The summers are bad enough, but Sun's Dusk brings the cruelest winters in Tamriel. Besides in Skyrim, perhaps," he added, handing her a teacup and returning to the sideboard to pour himself one with his free hand.

"Are you from Skyrim, serjo?" Fen asked, curling her hands around the cup. The tea was too hot to drink, but it warmed her palms and sent fragrant steam whispering up into her face.

"I was born there, near Whiterun," he replied, sitting down with a sigh of relief and carefully laying down his cane. "I came to Solstheim with my family when I was a boy. My grandmother used to be a Skaal, and she knew that the shaman here would need an apprentice soon. And with my bad leg, there was little opportunity for me in a place like Skyrim."

"How long have the Skaal lived in Solstheim?"

"Oh, for as long as I can remember. I used to hear tales about them when I was still in Skyrim, tales of how they were terrible men that could turn into wolves at will." He chuckled, scratching his yellow beard with one hand. "I hope the Imperials have not been telling you similar rumours."

"I try to spend as little time with the Imperials as possible," Fen said, and Wind-Eye laughed heartily.

"You must have spent enough time with them to know if the whispers about this attack have any truth to them," he said, his laughter fading quickly.

"How did you hear about that?" Fen asked curiously. Korst did not reply, merely smiled. "They were attacked by wolf-creatures," she told him. "And the chieftain assured me that the Skaal were not to blame."

"That is true," Wind-Eye said seriously. "The Skaal are brethren to the wolves of this island, nothing more. We do not command them, and we certainly do not share bodies with them. It would be like those soldiers to suggest it."

"Heart-Fang also mentioned the Oneness," Fen said, and Wind-Eye turned to look at her, the reflection of the fire glinting in his eye.

"There is a careful balance that lies in all things of this world," the shaman said, holding his hands out on either side of him, his palms facing upward and held at equal height. "The animals, the trees, even the rocks and the winds. It is a harmony that the Skaal draw power from, by the grace of the All-Maker, He who gave us these gifts. But when this balance is upset," he said, dropping one hand and raising the other, "our power is lessened."

"Heart-Fang wishes for me to restore the power of the Skaal."

"Does he?" Wind-Eye said, dropping his hands. "Then I will assist you. There is a ritual that must be completed. On Solstheim, you will find six Standing Stones, each representing one of the six gifts of the All-Maker. At each of these Stones, a ritual must be completed. Once the Ritual of the Gifts is complete, the Oneness should be restored."

"The Ritual of the Gifts?"

"It would be too much for any not of the Skaal to remember," Wind-Eye said, picking up his cane again and standing slowly. He went to a desk littered with scraps of parchment and drew two our of their stacks. "Here, take this," he said, holding out the first. It was a roughly-drawn map of Solstheim, marked with six tall finger-like shapes. "It will explain the rituals and guide you on your way. This scroll may be of some use to you as well," he added, giving her the second sheet. "If you are to remain with the Skaal, you should understand our beliefs." Fen unfolded the sheet and saw it was a story, the top of the scroll illuminated with _The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer._

"I imagine the snow will continue until nightfall," Wind-Eye told her, cracking a shutter and peering out at the blanket of white that shrouded the world outside. "A few hours, at least. If you return to the hunting lodge, you will find hospitality there."

"Thank you," Fen said, standing and tucking the two papers into her cloak. Wind-Eye nodded.

"Good luck to you, Fen."

Outside, the world was strangely silent. There were no people about, and the only things Fen could see were the dim outlines of houses that were sealed tight against the cold. She had only made it a few steps through the knee-deep snow when she saw a familiar silhouette standing before her in the gale. Fen squinted. She was sure she recognized that wiry frame, the jaggedly cropped dark hair…

"Julan?" she whispered, but her voice was lost in the howling wind. Then she blinked, and the figure was gone, leaving her alone in the silent, pale world.


	6. Chapter 6

By the following morning, the blizzard had subsided into a dim, grey morning. Fen left the hunting lodge and found that, while the snow on the ground was deep, the Skaal had risen early to go about their business. Now she could see the intricate wooden carvings on the sides of the houses, the well where tightly-bundled children collected water for their families, the curls of smoke that rose from chimneys and up into the grim sky. People were not lingering outside long save for the guards, men that wore Nordic armour and patrolled the village borders with one hand always on the pommel of their blades. They glanced up at Fen as she passed, but remained silent, though she could feel their gazes on her back as she descended the hill atop which the village was perched.

Fen had been exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by the time she returned to the hunting lodge the previous night, though she found that it was impossible to fall asleep on the bedroll that had been provided for her in one of the upstairs rooms. She had rummaged in her bag until she drew out _The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer,_ and curling up beside the low-melting candle had begun to read:

_"Sit quietly, Child, and listen, for the story I tell you is a story of the ages."_

_"But what is it, Grandfather? Is it a story of heroes and beasts?"_

_The Grandfather looked patiently at the Child. He was growing into a fine boy. Soon he would see the value in the stories, the lessons that were taught to each generation._

_"Just listen, Child. Let the story take root in your heart."_

_In a time before now, long before now, when the Skaal were new, there was peace in the Land. The sun was hot and the crops grew long, and the people were happy in the peace that the All-Maker provided. But, the Skaal grew complacent and lazy, and they took for granted the Lands and all the gifts the All-Maker had given them. They forgot, or chose not to remember, that the Adversary is always watching, and that he delights in tormenting the All-Maker and his chosen people. And so it was that the Adversary came to be among the Skaal._

_The Adversary has many aspects. He appears in the unholy beasts and the incurable plague. At the End of Seasons, we will know him as Thartaag the World-Devourer. But in these ages he came to be known as the Greedy Man._

_The Greedy Man (that is what we call him, for to speak his name would certainly bring ruin on the people) lived among the Skaal for many months. Perhaps he was once just a man, but when the Adversary entered into him, he became the Greedy Man, and that is how he is remembered._

_It came to be one day that the powers of the Skaal left them. The strength left the arms of the warriors, and the shaman could no longer summon the beasts to their side. The elders thought that surely the All-Maker was displeased, and some suggested that the All-Maker had left them forever. It was then that the Greedy Man appeared to them and spoke._

_"You of the Skaal have grown fat and lazy. I have stolen the gifts of your All-Maker. I have stolen the Oceans, so you will forever know thirst. I have stolen the Lands and the Trees and the Sun, so your crops will wither and die. I have stolen the Beasts, so you will go hungry. And I have stolen the Winds, so you will live without the Spirit of the All-Maker._

_"And until one of you can reclaim these gifts, the Skaal will live in misery and despair. For I am the Greedy Man, and that is my nature."_

_And the Greedy Man disappeared._

_The members of the Skaal spoke for many days and nights. They knew that one of them must retrieve the Gifts of the All-Maker, but they could not decide who it should be._

_"I cannot go," said the Elder, "for I us must stay to lead the Skaal, and tell our people what is the law."_

_"I cannot go," said the Warrior, "for I must protect the Skaal. My sword will be needed in case the Greedy Man reappears."_

_"I cannot go," said the Shaman, "for the people need my wisdom. I must read the portents and offer my knowledge."_

_It was then that a young man called Aevar lifted his voice. He was strong of arm, and fleet of foot, though he was not yet a warrior of the Skaal._

_"I will go," said Aevar, and the Skaal laughed._

_"Hear me out," the boy continued. "I am not yet a warrior, so my sword will not be needed. I cannot read the portents, so the people will not seek my counsel. And I am young, and not yet wise in the ways of the law. I will retrieve the Gifts of the All-Maker from the Greedy Man. If I cannot, I will not be missed."_

_The Skaal thought on this briefly, and decided to let Aevar go. He left the village the next morning to retrieve the Gifts._

_Aevar first set out to retrieve the Gift of Water, so he traveled to the Water Stone. It was there the All-Maker first spoke to him._

_"Travel west to the sea and follow the Swimmer to the Waters of Life."_

_So Aevar walked to the edge of the ocean, and there was the Swimmer, a Black Horker, sent from the All-Maker. The Swimmer dove into the waters and swam very far, and far again. Aevar was strong, though, and he swam hard. He followed the Swimmer to a cave, swimming deeper and deeper, his lungs burning and his limbs exhausted. At last, he found a pocket of air, and there, in the dark, he found the Waters of Life. Gathering his strength, he took the Waters and swam back to the shore._

_Upon returning to the Water Stone, the All-Maker spoke. "You have returned the Gift of Water to the Skaal. The Oceans again will bear fruit, and their thirst will be quenched."_

_Aevar then traveled to the Earth Stone, and there the All-Maker spoke to him again._

_"Enter the Cave of the Hidden Music, and hear the Song of the Earth."_

_So Aevar traveled north and east to the Cave of the Hidden Music. He found himself in a large cavern, where the rocks hung from the ceiling and grew from the ground itself. He listened there, and heard the Song of the Earth, but it was faint. Grabbing up his mace, he struck the rocks of the floor in time with the Song, and the Song grew louder, until it filled the cavern and his heart. Then he returned to the Earth Stone._

_"The Gift of the Earth is with the Skaal again," said the All-Maker. "The Lands are rich again, and will bear life."_

_Aevar was tired, as the Sun burned him, the trees offered no shade, and there was no wind to cool him. Still, he traveled on to the Beast Rock, and the All-Maker spoke._

_"Find the Good Beast and ease his suffering."_

_Aevar traveled through the woods of the Isinfier for many hours until he heard the cries of a bear from over a hill. As he crested a hill, he saw the bear, a Falmer's arrow piercing its neck. He checked the woods for the Falmer (for that is what they were, though some say they are not), and finding none, approached the beast. He spoke soothing words and came upon it slowly, saying, "Good Beast, I mean you no harm. The All-Maker has sent me to ease your suffering."_

_Hearing these words, the bear ceased his struggles, and laid his head at Aevar's feet. Aevar grasped the arrow and pulled it from the bear's neck. Using the little nature magic he knew, Aevar tended the wound, though it took the last bit of his strength. As the bear's wound closed, Aevar slept._

_When he awoke, the bear stood over him, and the remains of a number of the Falmer were strewn about. He knew that the Good Beast had protected him during the night. He traveled back to Beast Rock, the bear by his side, and the All-Maker spoke to him again._

_"You have returned the Gift of the Beasts. Once again, the Good Beasts will feed the Skaal when they are hungry, clothe them when they are cold, and protect them in times of need."_

_Aevar's strength had returned, so he traveled on to the Tree Stone, though the Good Beast did not follow him. When he arrived, the All-Father spoke to him._

_"The First Trees are gone, and must be replanted. Find the seed and plant the First Tree."_

_Aevar traveled again through the Hirstaang Forest, searching for the seeds of the First Tree, but he could find none. Then he spoke to the Tree Spirits, the living trees. They told him that the seeds had been stolen by one of the Falmer (for they are the servants of the Adversary), and this Falmer was hiding them deep in the forest, so that none would ever find them._

_Aevar traveled to the deepest part of the forest, and there he found the evil Falmer, surrounded by the Lesser Tree Spirits. Aevar could see that the Spirits were in his thrall, that he had used the magic of the Seeds and spoken their secret name. Aevar knew he could not stand against such a force, and that he must retrieve the seeds in secret._

_Aevar reached into his pouch and drew out his flint. Gathering leaves, he started a small fire outside the clearing where the Falmer and the ensorcelled Spirits milled. All the Skaal know the Spirits' hatred of fires, for the fires ravage the trees they serve. At once, the Nature of the Spirits took hold, and they rushed to quell the flames. During the commotion, Aevar snuck behind the Falmer and snatched the pouch of Seeds, stealing away before the evil being knew they were gone._

_When Aevar returned to the Tree Stone, he planted the tree in the ground, and the All-Maker spoke to him._

_"The Gift of Trees is restored. Once again, the Trees and Plants will bloom and grow, and provide nourishment and shade."_

_Aevar was tired, for the Sun would only burn, and the Winds would not yet cool him, but he rested briefly in the shade of the Trees. His legs were weary and his eyes heavy, but he continued on, traveling to the Sun Stone. Again, the All-Maker spoke._

_"The gentle warmth of the Sun is stolen, so now it only burns. Free the Sun from the Halls of Penumbra."_

_And so Aevar walked west, over the frozen lands until he reached the Halls of Penumbra. The air inside was thick and heavy, and he could see no farther than the end of his arm. Still, he felt his way along the walls, though he heard the shuffling of feet and knew that this place held the Unholy Beasts who would tear his flesh and eat his bones. For hours he crept along, until he saw a faint glow far at the end of the hall._

_There, from behind a sheet of perfect ice, came a glow so bright he had to shut his eyes, lest they be forever blinded. He plucked the flaming eye from one of the Unholy Beasts and threw it at the ice with all his might. A small crack appeared in the ice, then grew larger. Slowly, the light crept out between the cracks, widening them, splitting the ice wall into pieces. With a deafening crack, the wall crumbled, and the light rushed over Aevar and through the Halls. He heard the shrieks of the Unholy Beasts as they were blinded and burned. He ran out of the Halls, following the light, and collapsed on the ground outside._

_When he was able to rise again, the Sun again warmed him, and he was glad for that. He traveled back to the Sun Stone, where the All-Maker spoke to him._

_"The Gift of the Sun is the Skaal's once again. It will warm them and give them light."_

_Aevar had one final Gift he had to recover, the Gift of the Winds, so he traveled to the Wind Stone, far on the western coast of the island. When he arrived, the All-Maker spoke to him, giving him his final task._

_"Find the Greedy Man and release the Wind from its captivity."_

_So, Aevar wandered the land in search of the Greedy Man. He looked in the trees, but the Greedy Man did not hide there. Nor did he hide near the oceans, or the deep caves, and the beasts had not seen him in the dark forests. Finally, Aevar came to a crooked house, and he knew that here he would find the Greedy Man._

_"Who are you," shouted the Greedy Man, "that you would come to my house?"_

_"I am Aevar of the Skaal," said Aevar. "I am not warrior, shaman, or elder. If I do not return, I will not be missed. But I have returned the Oceans and the Earth, the Trees, the Beasts, and the Sun, and I will return the Winds to my people, that we may feel the spirit of the All-Maker in our souls again."_

_And with that, he grabbed up the Greedy Man's bag and tore it open. The Winds rushed out with gale force, sweeping the Greedy Man up and carrying him off, far from the island. Aevar breathed in the Winds and was glad. He walked back to the Wind Stone, where the All-Maker spoke to him a final time._

_"You have done well, Aevar. You, the least of the Skaal, have returned my gifts to them. The Greedy Man is gone for now, and should not trouble your people again in your lifetime. Your All-Maker is pleased. Go now, and live according to your Nature."_

_And Aevar started back to the Skaal village._

_"And then what happened, Grandfather?"_

_"What do you mean, Child? He went home."_

_"No. When he returned to the village," the Child continued. "Was he made a warrior? Or taught the ways of the shaman? Did he lead the Skaal in battle?"_

_"I do not know. That is where the story ends," said the Grandfather._

_"But that is not an ending! That is not how stories end!"_

_The old man laughed and got up from his chair._

_"Is it not?"_

It was far more lighthearted than the tales Fen had been told as a girl, finishing happily with the enemy successfully defeated. _Perhaps that's why the Nords are so much more cheerful than the Dunmer,_ Fen thought sardonically as she folded the story and slipped it into her bag. She wasn't sure what to expect, therefore, as she began to traverse through the snows and trees of Solstheim the following morning, following the poorly drawn map as best she could for guidance.

It snowed on and off as Fen walked, the wind occasionally stirring the trees and sending snow drifting off its branches in elegant white fans. The air was just as icy as it had been yesterday, and Fen felt grateful for the brooch from Effe-Tei – she was still quite cold, but she shuddered to think of what the air would feel like without its enchantment.

The map Wind-Eye had given her was as vague as it could possibly be in direction, showing rivers, mountains, and nothing else save the standing stones. The one nearest to the Skaal village was the Wind Stone, beneath the junction of the Islid and the Harstrad Rivers. She studied the map as she walked through the strange silence that the gently falling snow created, occasionally glancing up to see how close she was to the river until a loud screech interrupted her.

Fen looked up abruptly in time to see the strangest sight she had witnessed on Solstheim yet. Riding toward her on the back of what looked like a wild boar was a man, though he looked like, if standing he would only come up to Fen's knee. His skin was a frosty blue, more vivid than that of Dunmer skin, and his beady eyes were half-hidden beneath a spiked cap. He carried a lance the size of Fen's forearm in one hand, and in the other clutched the reins with which he controlled the boar that was bearing down on her, snorting wildly as spittle flew from its snout in all directions.

For a moment, Fen was too surprised to do anything. Then the odd pair was upon her, and it one swift move the tiny man had swung his lance at Fen's leg and sent her stumbling backward, the map dropping into the snow. She quickly regained her footing and used God's Fire on the creature – it stumbled backward with a squeal, surprised, and flew off the boar's back. Fen drew Trueflame from her belt and swiftly sliced at the boar, killing it with a pained cry. The tiny man got to his feet and lurched toward Fen again, and she managed to subdue it with two strikes from Trueflame.

She slid the blade back into its sheath, kneeling down in the blood-spotted snow to study the strange humanoid. He had an oiled black beard around his mouth, and Fen could see pointed, dirty teeth. His armour looked like it was hammered from some sort of hide, and his lance was made of the same leathery material. Fen had no interest in the minute leathers, so she left the strange creatures in the snow and continued on her way, making a mental note to ask Wind-Eye about them when she returned to the Skaal village.

She encountered several more of the strange men as she began to wander the land around the rivers, though never in groups of more than two. Usually there was only a brief reprieve after one of these confrontations before she was met with a wolf or bear or fryse hag or berserker. These frequent attacks coupled with the bitter cold and on-and-off snowfalls left Fen feeling exhausted and wind-beaten by the time her locket read noon. She found a small cluster of rocks beside one of the rivers that would block most of the wind and sat down huddled against them, pulling her hood low over her face and her cloak tightly around her.

Fen didn't know how much time passed as she sat there, but soon her vision had started to blur. She felt numb from the chill, and she let her eyes drift closed as she sat curled against the tall rocks, the only sound coming from the faint trickle of the river and the wind blowing fiercely down from the mountains to the north…

"Fen?"

Her eyes snapped open suddenly, and she stared wildly around, her heart pounding. She was quite alone on the rocky shore of the river. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Fen got to her feet, clenching her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. _You're imagining things,_ she told herself firmly. _The cold is getting to you._ But she had heard that voice say her name a thousand times. She would recognize it anywhere. _He's dead,_ Fen assured herself forcibly, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. _He's dead and dreaming about it won't bring him back._

She was about to head upriver again to sweep the land for the Wind Stone when something on the opposite shore caught her eye. A rock, standing taller than those around it, like a weathered grey finger rising into the sky. At its base, Fen could see a swirling design carved in an elegant circle. She picked up her cloak and the hem of her robe and splashed through the icy shallows to the other side. This had to be the Wind Stone.

"And it was right here," Fen muttered to herself, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the swirl. At once, the carving came to life, writhing and twisting like wind. A sudden breeze seemed to appear from nowhere, stinging Fen's exposed cheeks as it coiled around the wind stone. Writing began to form on the surface of the rock, just above the carving, as if written by a spidery hand.

_Travel south and east of the lake of ice to Glenschul's Tomb and free the Winds from the Greedy Man's bag_.

Then, as quickly as they had come, the words faded back into the stone and the carved wind stilled. The breeze was gone, leaving the land strangely silent. Fen slowly let her hand drop from the cold surface of the stone, tucking back a few hairs that had been pulled loose from her braid. _The lake of ice,_ she thought, looking at the crude map again. The scout at Fort Frostmoth had mentioned a frozen lake. There was a large oval south of the Wind stone with tiny waves drawn in its interior. Fen straightened up and glanced around. The riverside was deserted. She rolled up the map, tucked it into her bag, and crossed the narrow strait of land to the Islid River, starting to follow it south, toward the lake.

Darkness was beginning to fall by the time she reached Lake Fjalding, an ice-crusted circle of water near the eastern coast of Solstheim. The cold seemed to leak out of the lake and soak into the air around it. Fen circled around the edge of the lake and started moving southeast of it. It gave her a strange feeling, and she felt relieved to be away from it.

She followed a high ridge and a narrow footpath away from Lake Fjalding, encountering a few more of the men-creatures along the way. Before long, she had arrived at what appeared to be the entrance to some sort of crypt, crafted from black stones piled atop one another and carved with strange Nordic runes and symbols. Fen pushed open the round door, expecting to find the usual tomb inhabited by animated skeletons and Daedra inside.

She was met with quite a different adversary.

The creature that greeted her was hunched over and bow-legged, its skin leathery black and clothed in tattered rags. It was an emaciated sort of human-shape, a few wisps of dead white hair still left on its scalp, its eyes round and glowing scarlet in the darkness of the tomb. It gave off a terrible scent of death, screeching with an inhuman sound, and it swiped at Fen with talon-like hands, its rotted skin swinging, lifeless, from its half-exposed bones.

Fen quickly deflected its blow with Trueflame, stepping backward to balance herself. The creature hobbled toward her, its jaw hanging open as if broken and revealing its rotting black teeth. Fen cut it down quickly enough with Trueflame, though soon more of the undead had appeared, growling as they attempted to pull her down.

When Trueflame had sliced the last of the creatures away, the tomb rang with an eerie silence. Fen kept the blade out for light, holding it aloft as she moved through the dank corridors lit by sputtering candles melted onto rocks.

The crypt was small, and at the back of it Fen found a low-ceilinged room where bodies lay in niches along the walls, entombed in a strange ice that seemed to glitter with an unnatural aura. Fen approached one of the bodies, sheathing Trueflame. The Nord inside had a face that was perfectly preserved, as if he was merely asleep within the strange substance. Unnerved by the body, Fen backed away, glancing around the cavern. At the very back, an enormous burlap sack sat before one of the ice-covered bodies. Fen moved toward it curiously. The contents of the bag seemed to be moving inside it, as if they were restless to be free. Fen remembered the story, in which Aevar had literally tore open the bag and set free the winds. _I was expecting something a bit more metaphorical,_ she thought, taking hold of the tie that sealed the bag and pulling it free.

Before Fen knew what was happening, she was on her back on the floor of the cavern, all the breath knocked out of her, with her cloak and her hair and the skirts of her robe all flying around her as a violent wind tore through the cavern, howling terribly. Fen ducked her head as the gale flew through the tomb, then, in an instant, it had stopped. Fen slowly raised her head.

The cavern was dark – the wind had put out the low candles around the walls, leaving it nearly pitch black. She pulled Trueflame from its sheath for light and saw that the burlap sack lay deflated and empty upon the tomb's floor. _So the Nords can fill a bag with wind,_ she thought, pushing her hair out of her face. She kept Trueflame aloft as she navigated her way out of the cavern and into the freezing air. It was dark, and had begun to snow again. Fen started the long trek north back to the Wind Stone, cutting down the strange men-creatures that attempted to deter her as she went. The sun's absence made it even colder, and her breath rose in clouds as she traversed the frigid landscape.

She found the Wind Stone where it had been, standing tall and elegant on the coast of the river. She raised her hand to it as she approached and pressed her gloved fingers to the freezing rock. The carved wind began to move again, and though no words appeared on its surface, it began to emanate a strange, bluish light, and shimmers of energy rose from the snow at its base and swirled around it, vanishing from sight as they passed the curved top of the stone. The wind had been restored to the land.

It was dark, and the snow was beginning to pick up, so Fen went a few metres away to build her tent for the night against a cluster of rocks not far from the Wind Stone. Being near the rock made her feel strangely safe.

Fen started the fire inside the tent and stripped off her snow-soaked clothes, her body aching. She piled meat and comberry leaves into the cookpot to stew, then pulled a small square mirror from her pack, sitting back on a round cushion to comb out her tangled, damp hair. She set the comb down when she had finished, staring into the glass. Her face was drawn and almost pallid looking, and her eyes seemed too large for her head, ringed with dark circles. The thin white scar where Bolvyn Venim's ebony gauntlet had once struck her face stood out starkly on her left cheek, stretching from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

Fen stared into the reflection of her eyes, so dim and exhausted-looking. She was barely twenty-eight, still so young for a Dunmer, yet she felt as if she had aged a thousand years. She lowered the mirror slowly. _I once hoped that I would come out of all this just a bit bruised and scratched, a bit wiser and sadder for it all,_ she thought, staring out at the thin blue outline of the glowing Wind Stone through the cloth of her tent. _How wrong I was. _


	7. Chapter 7

The air was sharp and cruel on Fen's face as she packed away the tent early the following morning. The sky overhead was still dark, with only a faint sliver of pink visible on the horizon, and encroaching clouds threatened still more snow.

Fen checked the map Korst had given her and decided to move in a clockwise fashion, going to the Beast Stone next. According to the map, it was on the northern shore of Lake Fjalding, which was mercifully close. The sun had risen by the time she reached the tall, narrow stone with a wolf's head carved into the base, and she raised a gloved hand to it, pressing her fingers against the freezing rock.

The carving did not come alive as plainly as the Wind Stone's had, but the jagged fur on the stone wolf seemed to blow in a breeze, and its eyes seemed to follow Fen as she looked up to see the words that appeared there: _Travel South. Find the Good Beast and ease its suffering._

Fen removed her hand, and the carving stilled, the words fading back into the stone. She glanced up – the snow was quickly approaching, and she couldn't tell whether it would be a light one or a torrential blizzard. She turned away from the Beast Stone and made her way south, moving quickly.

Fen had been walking for nearly two hours and was about to double back when she heard the sounds of a confrontation nearby. She slowed, God's Fire ready on her fingertips as she glanced around. She stood on the coast of Lake Fjalding on frosty, snow-dusted grass, near a small grove of evergreens. Fen heard a blade strike something, and a long, painful moan. She advanced toward the grove, peering around the snow-covered trees, and saw no less than five of the strange blue men in a huddle with their backs to her, cackling inhumanly as they attacked something that lay in the centre.

Fen shot God's Fire at them, and at once the creatures scattered, revealing a furry white mound. Fen stepped out from behind the evergreen, and the little men immediately turned on her, brandishing their lances and curved shortswords. Fen blasted them to the side with another spell, and drew Trueflame. She cut down two of the men with one slash, and the others ran, their high screeches echoing over the trees. Fen glanced down at the two small bodies, covered in blood with entrails spilling out onto the snow. She wiped Trueflame clean and sheathed it, then turned toward the creature lying feebly amongst the trees.

It was a bear, Fen saw as she drew nearer, one of those bizarre creatures that towered above her when they stood up. But this bear was much smaller, younger, and it lay still in the snow, breathing harshly and unevenly. Fen circled around to its front and saw its fur on its shoulder was soaked in scarlet blood, and the shaft of a crude arrow protruded from its hide.

_Find the Good Beast and ease its suffering._

Fen slowly knelt down beside the bear, lowering her hood and pulling off her gloves. It panicked as she drew near and struggled, but it had not the strength to get away and collapsed in the snow again, panting hard, its eyes wild and scared.

"Shh," Fen murmured, bending closer and resting a hand on the creature's head. Its fur was softer than she had expected, and she stroked it gently, glancing back at the arrow. Fen had never been good with animals – the pets she had had as a child all seemed to die at an unusually young age. But the Good Beast seemed to relax slightly at her touch, closing its eyes as she stroked it.

Fen slowly removed her hand and curled it around the base of the arrow shaft. The arrow had struck deep. She placed her hand upon the sticky red fur to brace the arrow and the bear flinched, but did not struggle. In one swift yank, Fen pulled the arrow out, and the bear let out a terrible moan. Fen threw the bloody arrow away into the snow somewhere and pressed both hands to the wound, quickly sealing it with a healing spell. The bear's breathing stilled, and for a moment, Fen thought it was dead.

Then the Good Beast shuddered and got to its feet faster than Fen would have thought possible. She stood up as well, her hands sticky with blood, and braced herself for attack. The bear did not attack, however, but merely padded through the bloody snow to Fen and rubbed its face against her leg. Fen smiled slightly and patted the creature on the head. It turned its nose north, toward the Beast Stone, and Fen began to walk as the bear padded through the snow alongside her.

The threatening snow had passed without falling – the sky overhead was deep blue now, and the cold less frigid. They reached the Beast Stone, and Fen pressed her bloody hand to it, feeling that rush of energy again as light spiraled up to circle the stone. The Good Beast curled up at the base of the Stone, seeming content, and Fen knelt down beside it to clean her hands off in the snow.

"I suppose you're not coming, then," she remarked to the Good Beast as she pulled on her gloves. It made a content sound, and pawed at the snow around it. "I'd guessed as much," Fen said in reply, and she patted its head before straightening up and starting south.

The bear's company had been more substantial than Fen had thought, and as she walked along the Iggnir River toward the Sun Stone, she felt the loneliness seeping into her again. _It's strange, _she thought to herself, pulling down the hood of her cloak as she crunched through the frost-covered grass along the river. _When I first came to Vvardenfell I was so content with being alone._ _But everything's different now._

The day was growing late when Fen finally found the Sun Stone, standing tall atop a treeless hill. She had fought her way through a multitude of the little blue men, accompanied this time by more bears, wolves, and fryse hags than she had experienced so far. Hoping that the Sun Stone's task would be less strenuous, she raised her hand and pressed her hand against the carved sun, facing east over the island. The rays of the sun came to life, radiating and growing, as words appeared in the stone above them.

_Go to the west and free the warm Sun from the Halls of Penumbra._

The carving stilled. Fen lowered her hand and started westward, pulling up her hood as the sun began to set. _Perhaps they've got the sun in a bag again,_ she thought cynically, water-walking over the Iggnir River and following a narrow footpath until she reached a small cave. She lowered her hood and ducked inside, and found that it was pitch black, impossible to see even a few metres ahead. Fen cautiously drew Trueflame for light, and saw that the cave was carved from ice, and the slippery floor was dusted with snow.

She made her way through the freezing, black tunnels, cutting down draugr that populated the cave and looking for any sign of light that might be the sun she was looking for. At last, she noticed a small light other than that from Trueflame, glimmering around the corner of the tunnel. She sheathed Trueflame and cautiously walked around the bend.

The long tunnel stretched smoothly downward, and at its end Fen could see a wall of ice that was glowing so brightly it made her eyes ache. An enormous creature was silhouetted against the light, some sort of tall humanoid with spikes all along its back. Crimson eyes glowed at Fen from the creature's shadow. The creature did not move, though Fen was sure it had seen her, so she sent a spell of God's Fire at it.

The spell illuminated the walls as it hurtled down toward the monster, and Fen felt her heart skip a beat when she could see the thing properly. It was larger than she had thought, covered in leathery grey skin and cruel spikes. Claws grew from each finger, so long they brushed the icy floor, and curved horns grew from its strange, misshaped face. Its eyes burned brightly in the light from the spell, and with a bellow that shook the caves, it hurtled forward.

Fen stayed back, casting spells at it to weaken it, but suddenly the creature was upon her, raising a massive hand and slashing down at her. Its claws raked her skin and she screamed from the sudden, searing pain of it, writhing backward. The creature thudded forward again and Fen quickly regained her footing, trying to ignore the burning pain in her arms and chest. She drew Trueflame, and almost at once the monstrous being recoiled, its roar dying in its throat as it caught sight of the flame. Fen stumbled forward, waving Trueflame at the thing to force it backward. When she was close enough, she slashed it smoothly against it, cutting into its leathery hide.

The creature screeched in pain, and Fen finished it with another burning swipe from Trueflame. It howled and stumbled away from her, falling backward with enough force to make the entire cave shudder.

Trueflame clattered to the ground, and Fen gasped, falling to her knees and reaching for her bag. She downed a healing potion and felt the gashes stitching themselves back together. Fen rolled back the sleeve of her robe – she would have those long, white scars forever.

The pain gone, Fen rolled her sleeve down and picked up Trueflame from the icy floor. She carefully stepped over the creature's sprawled limbs and knelt beside its head, staring at its glassy red eyes and making a mental note to ask Korst about it. She glanced up at the glowing wall of ice, and remembered the words of the story: "_He plucked the flaming eye from one of the Unholy Beasts and threw it at the ice with all his might._" She looked back down at the smoldering eyes of the beast, and sheathed Trueflame, taking an ingredient knife from her alchemy kit.

Fen had never cut they eye out of an animal, and she wasn't sure where to begin as she stared at the leathery folds of its face. She pulled the skin back from the eye, revealing the tender pink flesh underneath, and pulled the eye itself forward, revealing the muscles that anchored it in place. Biting her lip, Fen carefully sawed the muscles loose, rotating the eye around so that she could cut more easily, then, when it was free, pulled the sticky red eye out of its socket, holding it carefully in her bloody hands.

It was a gruesome task, and Fen hoped that it would work as poetically as it had in Aevar's story. Standing several metres back from the wall of solid, glowing ice, Fen threw the burning eye with all her might.

There was a great cracking sound as the eye vanished. The ice began to spiderweb in every direction, until, with a sound like wind, the light hurdled through the tunnel, whisking over Fen and shooting around the bend and out of sight, lighting lanterns along the wall as it went. Exhausted, Fen followed the lanterns outside into the dark forest, and she traipsed back across the river and up the hill to the Sun Stone. The carving moved as she placed her hand upon it, and orange light raced upward once more. Fen felt a sort of warmth seep into her as she lowered her hand, and, glancing up, realized that she could see the moons clearly for the first time since she had arrived on Solstheim.


	8. Chapter 8

The following morning was grey and silent as Fen packed the tent away and started northwest along the Iggnir River, following her map toward the Tree Stone. It had snowed lightly during the night, and the powdered grass crunched under Fen's boots as she walked.

The sun had retreated further behind the solid wall of cloud by the time Fen reached the fourth stone, standing upon a small hill in the middle of a clearing in the evergreens. She moved around to its flat face and saw a crude tree carved there. Once again, she pressed her hand to the icy surface of the stone and the carving came to life, the branches of the tree rustling as if stirred by the breeze.

_The First Trees are gone. Travel east and find the one who has stolen the Seeds. Beware – he who has the seeds, controls the trees. Plant the First anew._

Fen lowered her hand, and the words sank back into the stone. She glanced around – a light snow had begun to fall, and to the east the ground was already covered, the space beyond the trees shrouded by the thick branches. She wasn't sure what to expect as she cautiously made her way back into the snowy forest, and she walked carefully, keeping her eyes moving and a fire spell on her fingertips.

Fen slowed as she neared a snowy clearing, squinting to make out five tall, willowy figures swaying slightly through the snowfall. She moved to stand behind a thick-trunked pine, and as she looked closer, she saw the figures appeared to be women, but they were unlike any woman Fen had ever seen. Their skin was a pale, leaf-green, and their bodies were spotted with what appeared to be tree bark – branches sprouted from their heads and arms in the form of long, lethal-looking claws. Their faces were sharp and angular, and their dark, sultry eyes glared around the clearing.

Spriggans. The word came to her, and Fen knew immediately that those were what the tall creatures were. She vaguely remembered seeing a crude illustration of a cruel-eyed tree-woman in one of her books in the Royal Library, accompanied by a short description: _Tree-spirits. Die three times. Extremely dangerous. Do not approach._ One of the Spriggans took an elegant step to the side and Fen saw they were gathered around one of the small blue men, fully outfitted in boiled leather armour and glancing shiftily around, his grubby hand clenched around something Fen couldn't see.

She recoiled behind the tree. If a Spriggan could die three times and she was faced with five of them, that meant fifteen creatures to take down in addition to the blue humanoid. Fen reached into her bag and drew out the Amulet of Shadows, thinking…the Spriggans were tree-spirits, which had to mean they would be overly weak to fire. She activated the Amulet and stepped out from behind the tree, invisible to the creatures now. Carefully, Fen aimed a spell of God's Fire at the nearest Spriggan and let it fly off her fingertips.

The spell struck, and almost as one unit, the Spriggans all turned and fixed their gazes on Fen with their cruel, piercing eyes. Then the effects of the spell took hold and the Spriggan that had been hit crumpled into the snow. The others all suddenly let out a horrible, inhuman shriek that sent birds in the trees panicking into the skies, and as one, the tree-spirits dove through the snow toward Fen, their clawed hands outstretched and their eyes mad. Even as they raced toward her, Fen saw the Spriggan that had fallen rising up out of the snow, brought back into its second life, and leap in to join the fray.

Fen lost all sense of what she was doing. She moved back and forth between slashing at the creatures with Trueflame and using God's Fire, moving constantly, struggling to dodge the razor-sharp talons that scratched at her from every angle. As soon as one Spriggan fell, it would rise back up out of the snow, fully restored to health and angrier than it had been before. They were ruthless, trying to drive her to the ground, tearing her cloak to shreds, ripping at her hair, her face, her hands. She started to ignore the pain, focusing only on hacking down the strange, shrieking creatures that sought to see her dead.

Then, finally, the onslaught stopped. Fen collapsed to her knees, exhausted, and glanced around. The snow around her was dark and saturated with blood, the entrails of the Spriggans spilled all around her. In the distance, the blue man lay dead, his throat split open. Fen's hair had been torn loose from its braid and hung around her face, matted with blood. Pieces of her shredded cloak littered the ground, and she could feel a burning pain in all the places where a Spriggan's claws had found her skin. She stared around at the slaughtered green bodies that lay around her, waiting for them to rise again. But they lay silent, and Fen slowly and shakily got to her feet. She glanced up toward the end of the clearing and her heart missed a beat.

He stood in the trees, silent, watching her, a sad smile on his face. Their eyes locked, and Fen stared at him, unwilling to believe it, her heart pounding. It was certainly him – the ragged hair, the long nose, the wiry frame under scuffed netch leather armour. The wind was the only sound in the clearing, hissing as it blew snow from the branches where it had been. He stared at her for a split second longer, then turned away, starting back into the trees.

"W – Wait," Fen choked out, slipping over the sticky gore that was spread out in the snow. She sprinted across the clearing, keeping her eyes on him as he started to grow harder and harder to see. "Wait – Julan –" But then she had crashed into the trees, and she was alone in the dark, snowy forest, her heart pounding in her ears.

She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing the Clockwork City on fire, Almalexia standing over her, laughing, Julan's empty eyes staring up into her face, blood seeping across his chest…

Fen hurriedly returned to the clearing, her breath short in her throat as she bent to take hold of the little burlap sack that the blue creature had been holding. Hastily tying her hair out of her face once more, she made her way back through the snow to the Tree Stone, remembering the words upon it. _Plant the First Anew._

Fen moved several paces away from the Tree Stone, where the grass was still visible. The ground was cold and hard, and Fen warmed it with a fire spell and made a small hole in the dark soil. She opened the tiny burlap sack and overturned it – several long, pale brown seeds fell into her palm. She dropped them into the hole, covering them with soil and pressing it down hard. When it was done, she returned to the Tree Stone, and it grew bright with energy just as the others had done.

The afternoon was still young, and Fen did not want to dwell aimlessly and think about what she had seen in the clearing, so she made her way to the west end of the island, following the map deep into the trees where the Earth Stone stood.

_Travel northeast to the Cave of the Hidden Music and learn the Song of the Earth._

She traveled to yet another cavern, cutting down still more undead Nords, moving onward despite her aching muscles. She soon reached a cavern were long stalactites and stalagmites almost met, forming music as they blew air into one another. Fen remembered the story, and she struck the pipes until the music stopped. The Earth Stone glowed as she touched it.

Fen turned and leaned against the Earth Stone, exhausted, as she checked her map. The Water Stone was the last one, standing directly north of the Earth Stone, at the base of Hvitkald Peak, the tallest of the Moesring Mountains. Fen stared upward – the sky was beginning to darken, but she was not tired, and wanted to keep her hands busy.

The temperature dropped quickly as Fen began the long walk north across two unnamed rivers that barred the way. Snow was falling more thickly now, and the wind began to blow more fiercely, burning Fen's cheeks. She had left her shredded cloak behind, donning a fresh one, and her eyes stung and watered as the wind blowing down from the mountains struck her. The ground grew icy, and Fen's boots slipped as she struggled onward. The night grew so chill that even the wolves stayed out of the cold, their howls absent from the night. Fen kept her eyes trained upward on Hvitkald Peak, looming far above.

Soon she felt herself elevating, her boots digging into the snow as she climbed. She spotted the Water Stone in the distance, on the face of the mountain, like a dark grey finger pointing tall into the dark sky.

By the time Fen reached the Water Stone, she had lost feeling in her feet and her hands, and her face was numb. She pressed her hand into the freezing surface of the standing stone, feeling tears of cold running down her cheeks.

_Travel west to a small island off the coast, and follow the Swimmer to seek the Water of Life._

Fen removed her hand and the words sank away. The snow had slowed, though the wind still blew as fiercely as ever, and Fen could see the coast in the distance, and a small, ice-covered island beyond that.

She stumbled through the cold down the slope and water-walked across to the island. On the water, the wind was even more fierce. Fen stepped onto the island, slipping a little, and raised her eyes to see a creature there, staring at her. It was a Horker, an odd seal-like creature with a tusked sac for a mouth. Fen had seen them swimming in the rivers and lounging on the banks in the south, but this one had a black hide, and its eyes seemed brighter and more alert as it moved its head up and down at her.

_Follow the Swimmer._

As Fen watched, the Horker turned and pulled itself off the ice and into the water, turning and staring expectantly at her. Knowing that water-walking would not suffice, Fen undid the latch of her cloak, letting it slide off her shoulders to the ice. Almost in a trance, she stripped off her robe, her fur-lined shirt and pants, her gloves and her boots and her stockings until she stood naked, shivering in the freezing wind.

The Horker turned with a splash and dove into the water, and Fen followed, closing her eyes and bracing herself for the chill as she slid in after it. Fen's gasp was masked as icy water enveloped her, so cold that it felt like blades cutting into her flesh. She forced her eyes open and stared through the dark water until she spotted the Swimmer, moving methodically ahead of her. Fen forced herself to swim behind it, keeping her eyes trained on the Horker's tail, her mouth clamped shut.

The Horker seemed to lead Fen for hours. She stayed focused on swimming behind it, and soon the water became so cold that she could barely feel it. The Horker finally stopped at the mouth of an underwater cave, far beneath the surface, and it gave Fen a single meaningful look before turning away and swimming away, out to sea. Fen cast water-breathing on herself and slid through the mouth of the cave, glancing around.

The thick ice walls formed a narrow, water-filled tunnel. Fen swam down through it endlessly, her arms growing sore and her skin prickling with discomfort. Her head ached with being so cold and under so much water, and she found herself wondering why she hadn't set a mark to get back to where she had left her clothes.

Then, quite suddenly, her head broke the surface of the water, and she found herself in a tiny ice cave, the air thin and cold. Fen reluctantly dragged herself out of the water, hastily dispatching a single skeleton that stood guard there, and glanced around, shivering, her hair dripping into her eyes. In the centre of the cavern, a small, elegant glass bottle sat, filled with water. The Waters of Life. Fen quickly picked up the bottle and held it firmly in hand as she slid back into the freezing water and made her way back through the ice tunnels and to the surface.

She dragged herself onto the shore, coughing and sputtering and freezing, and dressed quickly, tucking her hair up under a scarf and covering it with her hood, glad to be somewhat less cold. It was very dark now, and Fen was disoriented from her time beneath the surface. She glanced around. To the north, an enormous sheet of ice dominated the landscape, standing still and silent. Just ahead, the Moesring Mountains rose into the night. The wind was less angry now, but it whispered across the ice that rose jaggedly out of the snow around her.

Fen gradually found her way back to the Water Stone, where she emptied the Waters of Life at its base and felt its energy rise up into the dark sky.

She was too numb and too exhausted to set up the tent, and had, luckily, remembered to set a Mark in the Skaal Village. Fen recalled herself into the warmth of the Great Hall, where Tharsten Heart-Fang looked up from his fur-covered chair.

"Fen," he said as she lowered her hood. "You have been through many hardships these past few days. But I can feel the Oneness in the land once more. Would you sit and share your tales with me?"

"I would," Fen told him. "But not this night. I am sorry, Chieftain, but I am so tired I can barely see. If you don't mind, I would save my tales for the morning."

"Certainly," Heart-Fang agreed gruffly, gesturing to a serving girl nearby. "Give this woman a room upstairs and see that she has everything she needs," he told the girl, and he gave Fen a nod. "We shall speak again in the morning then, Lady Fen."


	9. Chapter 9

Fen came downstairs the following morning in a fresh robe, her hair clean and tied in a loose braid over one shoulder, her hands curled around a cup of steaming tea. Heart-Fang stood near the door of the Great Hall, his face troubled as he spoke to three of the Skaal Honour Guard, the elite warriors that patrolled the village. As Fen approached, Heart-Fang gave them a sharp command, and they nodded and exited the Hall.

"I hope you are feeling more comfortable today," he said, turning and inviting Fen to sit with him.

"I am," she told him, sitting. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"I am impressed with your efforts, outlander," the chieftain told her. "But there is more to be done. You have shown a certain loyalty to the Skaal, and it surprises me. Though I believe your heart may be one with the Skaal, your mind must be as well. To that end, I would have you investigate a crime. It involves two of the Skaal, and your actions may decide their fates." Fen lowered her cup.

"With respect, Chieftain," she said reluctantly. "Would it be wise to set me to a task of this sort when I have only spent two short days among your people?"

"It is a test of your wisdom," Heart-Fang replied. "And your decision will aid all the Skaal, for the better. Now, Engar Ice-Mane has been accused of theft. His accuser, Rigmor Halfhand, claims that Ice-Mane stole furs from his house. These furs were, indeed, found in Ice-Mane's residence. The Skaal do not take such things lightly. We have little, and each is given according to his need. This offense is punishable by exile or sacrifice to the wolves. Ice-Mane will surely choose the wolves. Now, speak with the Skaal. Find out what you can. Then, report your findings to me, so the guilty may be punished appropriately." With this pronouncement, Heart-Fang stood. "Make your decision wisely, Fen." He fixed her with a sharp stare, then turned and ducked under the doorframe and stepped outside, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Fen went upstairs to dress and moved outside, where the sky was a rare, pale blue. The air was as sharp as ever, and Fen raised the hood of her replacement robe and glanced around. The Skaal were moving quietly about their business, collecting water from the well and wood from the woodpile, the Honour Guard peering around the perimeters of the village.

A child carrying furs across the village pointed out Engar Ice-Mane, a broad-shouldered Nord man with a swirling blue tattoo covering most of his face. His eyes were kind, though, when she approached, and he greeted her cordially.

"I know what I am accused of, and I know that it is a lie," he told her calmly when she mentioned the furs. "I have no need for the furs of Rigmor Halfhand. I am a Skaal warrior. My honor and the honor of the Skaal are my life. But I will bear this injustice as any warrior should – with dignity."

"Do you speak with Halfhand often?" Fen asked.

"I had no quarrel with Halfhand until this day. I thought him a friend to my family, to my wife, Risi, especially. While I was on the hunt, he was known to keep counsel with her and others who remained in the village. And now this from him!" Engar shook his head. "I hope you can turn the tides of this accusation, Lady Fen. I do not wish my children to grow up thinking me craven." He directed her to Halfhand's house, a small building at the edge of the village, and he opened at the first knock.

Rigmor Halfhand was much smaller than Engar, almost scrawny, with a faint wisp of a beard on his chin and his oily hair slicked back in a high knot upon his head. He surveyed Fen with his small, watery eyes, looking cross.

"What do you want, Outlander?" he asked sharply.

"To speak to you about Engar Ice-Mane," Fen answered, and he seemed to perk up.

"Oh, the thief?" he asked brightly. "Please, do come in," he said, opening the door wide and stepping back. Fen stepped into the warmth of the house, glancing around. It was small and dark, with furs covering the walls and the only light coming from the fire in the grate and a few low, sputtering candles. "I'm afraid I – ah – don't have guests very often," Halfhand said, ushering her to a hard-backed chair before the fire. "Please excuse the disorder." He collected two cracked clay cups from his table and went to the fire, ladling tea into them from the pot that hung there. "You know, I just can't understand why he would do such a thing," Halfhand went on, pushing the tea into her hands and taking a seat across from her. "We of the Skaal give to each according to need. If Ice-Mane had needed more furs, they would have been provided. But, instead, he stole them from my home. It is difficult to explain. I feel sorry for his lovely wife, who will be left all alone."

"Have you had quarrel with Ice-Mane?" Fen asked, taking a sip of the tea and realizing it was hot water, nothing more. She lowered the cup.

"He had always been a valuable member of the Skaal," Halfhand said, shaking his head and taking a long drink from his cup. "But, he is not a caring man. He leaves his lovely wife for weeks at a time while on the hunt. He probably stole my furs because he wasn't able to provide enough for his family. Such a sad story."

"You seem to think very highly of his wife," Fen said suspiciously.

"A beautiful woman, deserving of better than her husband," Halfhand said at once. "Were I her mate, she would lead a much better life."

"Thank you," Fen said in reply, setting her cup down on a table. "I've got to be going now."

"I know you'll bring that fool Ice-Mane to justice, Lady Fen," Halfhand said, quickly getting up and shaking her hand vigorously. "The Skaal will surely thank you for it."

Fen left Halfhand's house, having a feeling that she knew exactly what was going on. Glancing around, she climbed the small hill to the centre of the village and knocked on the door of Ice-Mane's house.

A tall woman answered, her white-blond hair falling almost to her waist. She had a babe on her hip, and a girl that couldn't have been more than three clutched at her skirts, staring at Fen with wide blue eyes.

"Risi Ice-Mane?" Fen asked, and the woman nodded. "I'm trying to settle the matter between your husband and Rigmor Halfhand," she said. "May I come in?"

"Oh, um…certainly. Thorstein, would you put the kettle on?" she called into the house behind her, stepping back to let Fen in. Their home was much larger than Halfhand's, with several enormous furs covering the cold wood floor and hanging over the shuttered windows. A large fireplace on the back wall warmed the house, and Fen saw a young boy heaving an iron pot onto the hook over the fire. "I'm sorry for the mess," Risi said, stepping over an orange cat that lay curled upon one of the furs. "Engar has only just returned from the hunt, and we're always in a bit of disarray when he comes home."

"That's fine," Fen said, watching as Risi laid the baby down on the large, fur-covered bed in the corner. "Would you…prefer to step outside to talk about this?" she asked, glancing at the little girl, who had gone over to hold hands with her brother by the fireplace, where both of them stared at her evenly.

"Thorstein, Svenji, run across to Horksi's house and see if she needs any more bear fat. Tell her we have plenty. And put your gloves on." The girl immediately crossed to the door and started pulling on her boots, but the boy just stood there. "Thorstein," Risi repeated, glancing over at him.

"You're just going to talk about Father, aren't you?" he said angrily. "About how he's been disgraced and they're going to exile him and how he's never home because he's always hunting."

"Thorstein, go outside with your sister," Risi said sharply, Thorstein shot his mother a furious look before leading Svenji outside and slamming the door behind them.

"The other children have been mocking him," Risi told Fen, gesturing toward a stool by the fire. "Engar just…isn't around as much as he should be." Risi sat down beside Fen, filling a wooden cup with tea and offering it to her. "And that makes Thorstein bitter."

"I'm sorry," Fen said, taking a sip. It was real tea this time. "And you don't think Engar committed this crime?"

"Engar would never do a thing such as this," she said at once. "He is a man of honour, and we want for nothing. I cannot imagine what would drive Rigmor to make such an accusation. Perhaps he is jealous of my husband, and these charges are meant to disgrace him."

"And Rigmor Halfhand?"

"He had been a good friend to me until this accusation. We had spent...some time together. But now, he has decided to ruin my family." The baby on the bed cried out suddenly, and Risi gave a frustrated sigh and stood up. "Excuse me," she murmured, picking up the baby and trying to sing to it, walking it around the room and bouncing it on her hip.

Fen stood up, going over to the bed while Risi was occupied with the baby. A grey cat had sat down where the baby had been, and Fen rubbed its ears, glancing around the house. They were clearly not lacking in furs, she thought as she peered around. She looked back down at the cat and noticed the pillow lying slightly askance, a corner of parchment peering out from underneath it. Fen glanced back up at Risi, who had her back to Fen and was now trying to calm the screaming baby, and slipped the note out from beneath the pillow.

_Dearest Risi,_

_Why will you not see me? You know how I feel, and I know you feel the same about me. Please, simply consent to speak to me. Just a word, a moment with you, would ease my soul. If I cannot be with you, I will have to resort to something drastic._

_Please, consider your feelings. Your husband is a lout, away for weeks at a time, with no consideration for your needs. I have always been there for you, and I always will be. We should be together, dear Risi._

_RH_

"I'm so sorry," Risi said, turning back to face Fen, the baby now sniffling on her shoulder. Risi froze, spotting the note in Fen's hand, and her face drained of colour. "That – That letter. It was my private –" Risi sighed. "It is true that Rigmor and I had a…a brief affair," Risi admitted, "but that has ended. He refuses to let me go, though. I fear that he has caused this trouble just to get rid of Engar. You must put a stop to this. My husband is a good man, and does not deserve this fate."

"I'll do what I can," Fen told her, slipping the note into her cloak. "You've enough trouble to deal with as it is."

"Thank you," Risi said quietly, and Fen left her and returned to Halfhand's hut.

"You...found that letter," he stammered when Fen showed it to him. "But why would...? This is an outrage! I never... I only wanted the woman," Halfhand spat savagely. "Why did that fool have to choose the wolves? He could have simply left, and she and I could have been together forever! You know my crime, and I know you must tell Heart-Fang. Let us go to him, and I will accept my fate."

"Very well," Fen replied, and she led Halfhand from his home and into the Great Hall where Heart-Fang stood with four of his Honour Guard.

"So, you have invented this tale of theft? Over a woman?" Heart-Fang snarled when Halfhand admitted his lies. "By the All-Maker, this will not go unpunished! By Skaal tradition, making a false accusation carries the same penalty as the crime that is claimed. In this case, either exile or death by sacrifice to the wolves. The verdict is yours to decide.

"If exiled, Halfhand would be forced to leave the Skaal Village, never to return. None of the Skaal will hunt him, but neither will they offer him aid, even in his most dire need. He will be dead to this tribe until the end time. Sacrifice to the wolves is…the more honorable death, perhaps. The Caenlorn, the ceremonial wolves of the tribe, would be summoned by the our shaman, and Halfhand would be fed to them. In that way, his spirit will be purified and reborn, perhaps to a better life than this one that he has chosen to throw away. It is up to you. The verdict is yours to decide."

Fen glanced over at Halfhand, kneeling with his head bowed, his eyes downcast. Her exile had given her another chance…but it had led to Julan's death. And she couldn't imagine being exiled on such a harsh and unforgiving island.

"The wolves," she said, and Halfhand squeezed his eyes shut.

"Very well," Heart-Fang said, nodding to his Honour Guard. "You have shown mercy and wisdom, Lady Fen. Take this man to the wolves," he said, and two of the guards seized Halfhand by the arms and dragged him outside as one ran ahead to fetch the shaman. Fen and Heart-Fang joined the rest of the village gathering around a round, fenced-in pen. One of the Honour Guard shouted something, and the Skaal shuffled aside so that Fen and Heart-Fang stood right before the fence.

The Honour Guard shoved Halfhand into the centre of the pen and slammed the gate shut. He stayed on his knees in the snow, his face bright red, his breath short as the Skaal glared at him. On the other side of the fence, Engar stood with his arm around Risi, his face set.

The crowd parted again, and Korst Wind-Eye was let through. He raised his arms, murmured a few quiet words, then three black-furred wolves appeared in the pen, their slender noses pointed toward Halfhand. Wind-Eye spoke a word, and the wolves snarled and leapt on the man.

Fen forced herself to watch as the wolves tore flesh from Halfhand's body, his high screams penetrating the freezing air. The Skaal watched silently as Halfhand was rent apart, his blood spraying across the snow, his agonized cries accompanied by the growls and barks of the Caenlorn. When the wolves finally stilled and vanished, Halfhand's head lay separate from his body, his bloody arm and a single foot on the other side of the pen, his throat torn out and lying coiled in the snow. His eyes were wide and glassy, and the Skaal quietly returned to their homes as the Honour guard started to cover the remains with snow.

Fen glanced to her side, where Korst Wind-Eye stood solemnly.

"Korst," she said quietly, and he glanced up at her. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you. Privately."

"Certainly, Lady Fen," the shaman said, and he cast one more grim look at the proceedings before limping back to his home, Fen following close behind. "You made a wise choice," he told her as the door closed, his cane clicking on the wooden floor as he crossed the room. "Now Halfhand's spirit will be reborn, and he will, perhaps, lead a better life." Fen sat down before the fire and Korst joined her, laying down his cane beside his chair. "Now, what may I help you with?" Fen studied his face, careworn and kind, in the light of the fire, hesitating.

"A few years ago," she started slowly, "my…my friend was killed. He was trying to protect me." Korst did not reply, but kept his gaze on her steadily. "Since I've come to Solstheim," Fen continued, "I feel like…he's here. I sort of…feel his presence. And I feel like I've seen him, when I'm out in the wilderness and I'm alone, I see him, or I hear him, or…" Fen drifted off, aware of how ridiculous she sounded. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her face growing hot. "I'll leave –"

"There is no way for the dead to return to Mundus," Korst told her, and there was understanding in his voice. "The ancestral ghosts of the Dunmer are not truly ancestors, merely spirits called from Aetherius to protect the dead. When we die, we are sent to the Dreamsleeve so that our soul may be reborn at a later time."

"So it's not him," Fen said, and Korst gave her a small smile.

"The stars have not been visible for some time, now," the shaman said. "If they were, you would have seen how bright they are on Solstheim. Some say that the stars are holes in the Dreamsleeve, and the light that shines through is the light from Aetherius. The Dreamsleeve acts as a sort of veil between Mundus and the realm of the beyond, and it is said that at the edges of the world, places like Solstheim, the veil is thin. Sometimes, those who have passed on may try to reach those that are still on Mundus at those places. Perhaps your friend is trying to communicate something to you."

"What would he be trying to tell me?" Fen asked softly.

"That is something only you can answer, Lady Fen."


	10. Chapter 10

Fen lived two full days among the Skaal after the death of Rigmor Halfhand, most of her time spent sitting across from Korst Wind-Eye and listening to him speak. He told her that the small blue men she had encountered were called Rieklings, and that they were thought to have descended from Falmer, ancient snow-elves that used to inhabit Solstheim and Skyrim. He showed her cuttings of native plants, teaching her how to use each one, from the rare purple Wolfsbane petals that were smooth and sharp along the edges to the Belladonna berries that you had to crush with the flat end of the knife. She learned maps of Solstheim and star charts detailing constellations that were not visible from Vvardenfell, read rare books privy to the northern nations, drank tea that tasted bitter but was said to heal one's soul. She learned that Korst Wind-Eye was a quiet man, trusting and kind, and that he seemed to immediately understand every question that she had.

The morning of the third day, Fen descended to the lower floor of the Great Hall to find Tharsten Heart-Fang speaking to five members of the Honour Guard, all of them looking drawn and afraid. Heart-Fang noticed her and gestured for her to join them, and the circle widened to allow her in.

"You have done well, Lady Fen," he said gruffly, though his voice did not seem as glad as his words. "You have shown your loyalty and wisdom, but there is one thing further I will require of you. Now you must prove your strength as a warrior." Fen bit her lip – face-to-face combat had never been a strong point of hers. She had always thought of her duel with Karrod as mere luck.

"In what way?" she asked, and the Honour Guard began to trickle away out the door, leaving her and Heart-Fang alone.

"You have been spending much time with Korst Wind-Eye as of late, yes?" Tharsten asked, and Fen nodded. "Good. Then I wish for you to travel to Lake Fjalding. Seek him out, for he has traveled there already. He will give you further instruction. Look for him on the northern shore of the lake."

"If I could be so bold, Chieftain," Fen began slowly. "What manner of test awaits me at the lake?"

"Not a test, exactly," Heart-Fang replied, glancing out a window and looking troubled. "More of a disturbance. You'll know it when you see it. Better to let Korst explain."

"I'll go now, then."

"See that you do."

It was a short walk from the hill that Skaal Village was perched upon down to Lake Fjalding, and Fen what Heart-Fang spoke of the moment she emerged from a small grove of pines on the shore. In the centre of the lake, an enormous pillar of fire rose directly out of the water, standing the height of fourteen full-grown men. The ice around it had melted and it roared with a crackling fury, seeming to leap higher and higher every moment. Fen could feel its heat from where she stood a good distance away.

"Lady Fen!" She turned, and saw Korst waiting a short distance away. Fen hastily approached.

"The fire –" she started hurriedly, breaking off and staring at the shaman expectantly. Korst sighed, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"These are strange times, my friend," he told her, the fire glimmering in his eyes. "I am unsure what magic is being worked to cause such a disturbance on the lake, but you were sent here to prove your strength."

"I am…not the strongest fighter," Fen warned, staring at the fire that roared from the heart of the lake.

"But you have shown us that you are able," Wind-Eye replied, his pale eyes studying her. "The Chieftain and I believe that you are capable enough. Beneath that lake there are a series of ice caves. In one of those caves, you will find Aesliip, a Draugr Lord. Heart-Fang believes he is the one responsible for the disturbance on the lake."

"A Draugr lord," Fen repeated curiously. Wind-Eye had told her about the Draugr, undead Nords that guarded old barrows in the wilderness, and she had realized shortly after that she had encountered them once, searching for the Greedy Man's bag. "And that's who Heart-Fang thinks is responsible?"

"Fire from water, flame through ice," the shaman said softly, his eyes reflecting the dancing glint of the fire on the lake. "Strange indeed. Heart-Fang believes that a Draugr Lord who lives beneath the lake is the source of this, but I am not certain. I fear that this could be a sign of the Bloodmoon Prophecy, though I pray to the All-Maker that this is not so. From what I have read in the histories, Aesliip was once a powerful mage who delved in necromancy. As a result of these dark magics, he was made a draugr, but he retains much of his immense power." Wind-Eye looked back at her, his brow furrowed. "You are to kill this creature, and perhaps end this madness. Take care with this task, Fen. This situation seems odd to me."

"And what is the Bloodmoon Prophecy?" Fen asked. A chill ran up her spine as she said it. The name came with a sense of foreboding, a dark worry that seemed to nestle itself into her very skin.

"It is an ancient prophecy, one that I hope is but a myth," Wind-Eye responded, his face troubled. "It tells of a time when the moon above will turn blood red, and the wolves that walk like men will walk the land. The prophecy tells of other signs that precede the Bloodmoon, but they are not all easily interpreted." He shook his head. "Let us speak about this at another time. For now, you are to prove your strength." Fen was silent for a time.

"I'll go, then," she said finally. "You go back to the village. There's no need to wait for me here in the cold." Korst nodded.

"I'll see you off." Fen did not respond, but offered him a small nod of thanks as she turned and stepped carefully onto the ice.

Her boot slid slightly, but the hard soles managed to grip the ice as she slowly made her way toward the flaming heart of Lake Fjalding. She could hear the ice straining under her as she grew closer to the fire, and the heat scorched her face and left her back very cold. When she was within a stone's throw of the pillar of fire, she heard the ice begin to crack under the combined stress of her weight and the heat from the fire. Fen glanced back – Korst Wind-Eye was nowhere to be seen.

As quickly as she could on the cracking ice, Fen loosened her cloak and lay it on a rock protruding from the water. She pulled her boots and woolen stockings off her feet, then filled her lungs with air and let the ice give way and send her sliding into the icy water.

Remembering her mistake the last time she had ventured into Solstheim's water, Fen cast a Mark and, clutching her boots in one hand, dove into the lake, suddenly finding herself in a cone of warmth. She glanced up – through the rippled distortion of the water, she could see the fire, seemingly floating atop the surface, but somehow casting its heat down below.

Turning away and clutching her boots in one hand, Fen kicked down to the floor of the lake, where a cave entrance was concealed in a rock directly beneath the fire. She swam through a narrow tunnel, then found herself emerging in an ice cave similar to the ones she had entered during the Ritual of the Standing Stones. Wringing out her sopping braid and tying it up under a scarf to dry, Fen glanced around, her toes curling on the cold, slick ice. The cavern was very dark, and she could just barely see the sparse light reflected off the glassy, ice walls. She cast a small fire spell in the palm of her hand and dangled her stockings over it to dry them, then pulled them over her icy feet, lacing up her boots behind.

Fen drew Trueflame, slowly advancing forward into the dark, silent cave. She soon began to meet more of the draugr, the humanoid once-Nords that came at her with tiny, pointed teeth and glowing eyes, their limbs dangling and bones jutting from tears in their leathery, cracked skin. Most of them were quickly cut down with a spell or a swing from Trueflame, and Fen soon found herself working into a rhythm, as she often did when traveling through a cave.

Some time passed. Fen guessed that it had to be late into the afternoon by the time she reached a much smaller, narrower cavern that led her into a round, dark room chiseled in the ice. She advanced slowly, Trueflame crusted with draugr blood and casting a spiky orange light into the slick ice floor. The only other light in the room emanated from what looked like an enormous magical barrier opposite her, offering a distorted view of the tunnel beyond and casting a strange, hazy purple glow over a tattered bedroll and a worn table, the only other articles in the room. Fen stopped, watching her breath rising before her, as she noticed a shape outlined against the pale glow of the barrier, a crippled, stooped shape that seemed to be breathing slowly.

"You are brave or foolish to enter this place, Dunmer." The voice was low and frail, like an old man upon his deathbed. Fen narrowed her eyes and lowered Trueflame, trying to see better in the limited light from the portal that blocked off the next tunnel. "But I sense a bit of wisdom in you...perhaps. I might kill you where you stand, were you to try and keep me from my task, but there are more dangerous things in these caves then this poor soul." The figure turned, and though Fen could only see a worn leather helmet and glowing eyes from the outline of the barrier, she knew at once that this had to be the draugr lord Aesliip.

"What task would that be?" she asked slowly, her fingers tightening over Trueflame's hilt.

"I have been in this cave for many centuries. The draugr you met in this place are not my kin. Mindless creatures, driven only by desire for living flesh. My story is quite different.

"I was once a mage, of the people who call themselves the Skaal. I was powerful, mortal. Powerful beyond their reckoning. But I strayed. I delved into the black arts, became learned in the ways of necromancy. When this was discovered, I was cast out by my people. Alone, I wandered to this place." Aesliip turned his head to gaze upon the barrier, and Fen could see his profile in the purple glow, half-rotted and gouged with festering wounds, empty eyes in hollow sockets, a cracked jaw and split lips that barely covered yellowed, sharpened teeth.

"I continued to learn what I could of the ways of the living flesh and the energies that animate," he continued, turning back so that his mangled face was in shadow. "I became a summoner, I communicated with the Daedra. It was then I learned of their machinations, their plans to destroy my people."

"What plans?" Fen asked suspiciously.

"A group of Frost Daedra had taken up residence deep in the bowels of this island. I thought at first that it was my doing, that I had somehow summoned these fiends. But they were beyond my abilities. I learned that they would wipe this island clean of life, slaughter my people and all we held dear. I knew I must act.

"I tried to warn my people, but I was an empty voice to them, as though I were dead. So I used my magic to erect a barrier deep in this ice, strong enough to contain these Daedra and keep them from overrunning the island. The barrier held; for years I maintained it. But I grew old, and I knew that my death would mean the death of all life on Solstheim." Aesliip exhaled, and no air rose from his bruised and torn lips – there was no breath in his lungs to breathe.

"My life had to be extended, so I used my knowledge of the black arts, and I turned myself into the creature you see before you. A Draugr. Eater of Flesh. But my life was infinite. I could keep the barrier intact so that my people might survive. And now you appear. To kill me, perhaps? You may have the power, but perhaps you have a greater purpose here."

"What purpose is that?"

"Fight with me, Dunmer," the draugr said suddenly, his hazy, glowing eyes wide. "Together we might vanquish these creatures, send them back to their unholy plane. I will lower the barrier, and we will cleanse the land of this scourge."

There was silence, filled only by the faint humming of the strange purplish haze that sealed the caverns beyond. Fen had been tasked by the Skaal to kill Aesliip. But they had neglected to tell her of his past. _Korst mentioned a Bloodmoon Prophecy,_ Fen thought, staring into the draugr's waiting eyes. _And now Aesliip is warning of some sort of dark scourge. _It couldn't be a coincidence.

"You'll get this sorted out, then these people will know that you're the one they need to look to." Fen whipped her head around, staring at the space behind her – it was empty, nothing but a dark, icy tunnel. And yet she had heard the words again clear as the day Julan had first spoken them to her, at the Day of Lights Festival in Mournhold. _Perhaps your friend is trying to communicate something to you._

"We will fight these creatures together," Fen said calmly, turning back to Aesliip, and the draugr bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

"This is wise," he murmured, turning to face the barrier. He raised one skeletal, half-rotted hand and pressed it into the whirling energy there. "I will lower the barrier that keeps the demons at bay. You and I will be victorious, as the lives of all those above are forfeit if we are not." A hole formed in the barrier around Aesliip's hand, and the purple matter melted away until they were left in darkness, the gaping mouth of the tunnel awaiting them. "You will lead," Aesliip told her, taking a step back. "I will watch for the ones that will surely follow us."

And so Fen led the way into the deep inner halls of the caverns beneath Lake Fjalding, the hunched draugr by her side. Between Aesliip's long, lethal claws and Fen's spellcasting, the Frost Atronachs that inhabited the caverns were dispatched fairly easily. When they had slain the last daedra that lurked in the shadowy, dark corners, Aesliip turned to Fen, his empty eyes grim.

"You have done a great service for the people of this island," he told her, his voice as harsh as ever. "You will never know how well it is appreciated." Fen stared upward, knowing that there were more tunnels overhead, and above that, the tall depths of the lake. And above that, the pillar of fire that Fen instinctively knew still burned on.

"I am sorry that I came here with intentions to kill you," she said finally, and the draugr nodded.

"Many things in this place are not at all as they seem, Dunmer. You would do well to remember that." Then, quite suddenly, the creature folded in on itself and crumpled to the icy floor of the cavern, immobile. The lights in its eyes were gone, leaving a shrunken, emaciated corpse in its wake.

Not wanting to linger in the frozen, empty caves, Fen cast recall and found herself on the edge of the lake once more, standing beside her cloak and robe on the thin ice beside the pillar of fire. She quickly gathered up her things and made her way back to the shore, looking back at the flames that still rose high into the gathering twilight. She swung her cloak over her shoulders and sat down on a large, flat rock, despite the gathering cold. She sat in silence, staring up at the moons slowly rising up from the horizon.

"I never was one for the cold." Fen turned her head, hardly daring to believe it. Yet there he was, in the same glass armour he had died in, standing by the lapping water on the shore of Lake Fjalding. Her breath caught in her throat. She was afraid to move. Afraid it would make him vanish. Julan looked back at her. "Why are you here, Fen? Why are you in Solstheim?" Fen looked down at her hands and clenched them to keep them from shaking.

"I – I don't…" she looked up, and found she was alone again, sitting on a cold rock on the shore of an even colder lake.


	11. Chapter 11

Night had fallen, thick and cold, upon Skaal village as Fen returned, tired and hoping for nothing more than a tisane and a bedroll with a heated pan beneath it. The village was quiet, no one outside save the ever-vigilant Honour Guards that greeted her with solemn nods as she passed. Candlelight leaked out from beneath the shutters of the wooden cabins, and smoke curled up serenely from their long stone chimneys. Fen stared up at the starless sky, dominated by the twin moons that threw diamonds of moonlight onto the untouched snow beyond the houses. Fen made her way past the well that marked the middle of the village toward the Great Hall, the only sound being the crunch of snow beneath her boots and the distant wind in the trees.

Korst and Heart-Fang sat together before the low-burning embers of the fire, neither man speaking, just silently watching the red coals. A single Honour Guard stood back against one wall. Fen let the door swing closed behind her, and Heart-Fang raised his head, though the shaman did not.

"You've returned from the lake," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Tell us, was Aesliip to blame for the fire?" Fen sat down on the bench across from Heart-Fang, lowering the hood of her cloak slowly.

"He…was not," she said eventually. "The flames on Lake Fjalding still burn." Korst closed his eyes and shook his head grimly.

"It is as we feared, Chieftain," he said, and Heart-Fang sighed heavily. "It seems to Bloodmoon Prophecy draws near."

"What is – ?" Fen started, but her question was interrupted by a sudden scream from outside, sharply penetrating the walls of the Great Hall and soon followed by a sound of splintering wood. Heart-Fang rose at once, drawing his broadsword from his back. Fen and Korst stood as well.

"Gods have mercy on us," Korst whispered, and the door of the Great Hall slammed open. An Honour Guard stumbled inside in a burst of snow, his face red and an ugly, red gash across one arm.

"Ch – Chieftain," he sputtered, his eyes wide. "The v – village is under attack! _Werewolves!_" Heart-Fang's face drained of colour. Another high scream pierced the air. Wordlessly, he sprinted to the door, closely followed by the two Honour Guards.

"Go," Korst said quickly, grabbing Fen's arm. "They need you." Fen gave the shaman a brief nod and followed the chieftain to the door, drawing Trueflame from its sheath.

The scene that met her eyes could not have differed more from what she had walked through mere moments ago. The doors of many of the Skaal houses lay ripped from their hinges, and the Skaal themselves stood all around the centre of the village, battling creatures like Fen had never seen before. They resembled the wolves she had met in the Hiirstang Forest, but just barely. The creatures stood on two feet, with long, lethal-clawed hands and pointed snouts. Their eyes glowed pupiless and yellow, and they snarled with an inhuman fury as they slashed at the Skaal. Blood was smeared all across the snow, and Fen saw human bodies everywhere she turned.

She barely had time to take in the horror before she heard a snarl to her left and one of the creatures was upon her. Fen turned quickly in the snow, raising Trueflame to fend off the beast. Its hot breath bore down on her, its slavering jaws straining for her throat. Fen managed to shove the creature back and shoot God's Fire down into the snow, catching its fur alight. She ended it with a swipe from Trueflame.

But only a second had passed before there was a second, then a third, and soon she was fighting off six of the wolf-men at once, the flames on her blade burning her eyes as they flashed past her, magic constantly spinning from her palms as she struggled to keep the creatures away.

"Fen!" she heard someone shout, and as she turned to see, she felt a sudden horrible, unbearable pain sinking into the side of her waist. She cried out as the wolf that had latched onto her brought her down into the snow. There was a confusion of terrible pain and claws and teeth and blood, then a wooden cane came swinging in from the side, bludgeoning the wolf's head with a sickening _crack._

"Lady Fen," Korst said frantically, extending a hand. "I'd lean down, but –"

"I'm fine," Fen assured him hastily, struggling to her feet. Pain shot up from her waist, making her almost double over in agony. She could feel blood soaking into her robes. "Thank you," she added quickly, and Korst reached out to steady her. But there were more wolves still, and Fen, forcing herself to ignore the wound, retrieved Trueflame from the snow and rejoined the fray.

She fought as hard as she could with the pain gnawing at her side. There seemed to be no end to the wolves – the moment she cut down one, there were three more to take its place. The wind began to blow, bitter and frigid, and the fire on Trueflame flickered as the blade grew red with wolf blood.

At last, Fen cut down a wolf that had left her with a long gash on one shoulder, and there was not one there to replace it. She lowered Trueflame, her breath short in her throat, and without the distraction of the fighting the pain from her waist hit her full on. Fen groaned, letting her blade fall, and doubled, her hands going instinctively to her side. That made the pain worse, and before she realized what was happening, she was in the snow, cradling her knees with her eyes squeezed shut. The agony was quite unlike any she had ever felt before.

"There – right there!" she heard someone shouting, and there were hurried footsteps right beside her head. She felt someone's fingers – cold and thick – push up her jaw and press against her neck, checking for a pulse. "She's alive!" Then the fingers were gone and a harried breathing filled the air as the man pulled her torn cloak away from her side. "Ysmir," he breathed. "Korst! _Korst, dammit!_" Fen opened her eyes, feeling delirious. The sky overhead spun. She saw Korst Wind-Eye appear, gingerly kneeling down on his crippled leg, and felt his strong, callused hands on her waist. Korst spoke a single word, and the pain began to ebb away.

"Fen?" he asked softly, and her breathing slowed. "Lie still a moment," Korst told her firmly. "Let the blood begin to flow again." Fen rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky, watching the moons towering over her and her breath that rose in a cloud above her face.

"Is – Is everyone alive?" she managed to ask after a moment, and Korst avoided her gaze. Fen sat up slowly, staring around in horror.

Utter carnage dominated the centre of the village. The snow was saturated with blood everywhere she looked, and bodies of wolf and Skaal alike littered the ground. Fen saw Thorstein Ice-Mane, Engar's son who couldn't have been more than nine, lying near the well with his belly split open, his entrails spilled across the snow and his eyes staring vacantly out of his bloody face. Engar and Risi hunched over the body, sobbing. Fen stared around in dread. The wolves had showed no mercy – men, women, and children littered the snow, brutally butchered with their bodies horribly misshapen by the werewolves' claws.

"How many?" she whispered, and Korst shook his head.

"We…we do not know yet. Many of the Honour Guard has fallen, and those that remain have lost those that they love."

"Shaman! _Shaman!_" Korst turned, and a member of the Honour Guard stumbled to a halt, his helmet gone and a bleeding wound slashed across his forehead. "The Chieftain is gone! We can't find him anywhere!"

"I'll go," Fen said quickly, getting to her feet, the pain completely gone now. Korst would be needed to heal those that still barely clung to life. She sprinted around the fallen toward the Great Hall, slipping on the blood and entrails of those that lay slain as she went. The doors to the Great Hall had been ripped away, and she slowed as she entered.

The great stuffed cliffracer had been pulled down from the ceiling, its glass eyes reflecting the moonlight outside. The furniture was smashed and in pieces, and blood coated the mats that covered the stone floor. Frid, the quiet girl that had lit the fires and brought Fen tea every evening, lay slumped over a splintered bench, her head partly severed from her neck and one arm missing. Her skirts were torn and smeared with blood. Fen looked away, feeling ill. She had not seen this much slaughter in some time.

The Chieftain was nowhere to be found, it was true. It was as if he had simply vanished away. Fen stepped back outside into the darkness, which was now punctuated by the agonized cries of the remaining Skaal as the dead were turned over. Korst approached her, holding a thin-necked bottle in one hand.

"Here," he told her, holding the bottle out to her. "It is likely that you were infected when you were bitten. This will counteract the effects of the Sanies Lupinus." Fen took it gratefully, knowing that returning to Mournhold as a werewolf would not have been quite what she'd had in mind. "I name you now Blodskaal, a blood-friend to our people for your heroism this night."

"Thank you," Fen said softly, handing Korst the empty bottle. "But I wasn't good enough. The Chieftain is gone. Not even a body. He's vanished."

"These are frightening times, my friend," Korst replied, staring sadly around them at the dead that covered the land. "There have been ominous portents, and they concern me. Heart-Fang is missing, and I fear that the All-Maker does not breathe freely on the Skaal this day. The ceremony must be completed, but first I will need you to retrieve the Totem of Claw and Fang. It is a powerful artifact, very sacred to the Skaal people. It is used to call to us powerful beasts that are used in the Ristaag. It was stolen many years ago, and we of the Skaal were foolish enough to believe it would not again be needed. I have learned that it may be found in the Tombs of Skaalara, to the east and a bit south of here."

"I'll go now," Fen said at once, but Korst placed a firm hand upon her shoulder, his icy blue eyes staring into hers.

"You have done enough for the Skaal this night," he told her softly. "And now you must rest. The Chieftain had Rigmor Halfhand's old residence prepared for you while you were at the lake. It is yours to call home now." Fen looked once more at Engar and Risi, holding one another as they stared at their son's butchered body, then back at Korst.

"I have to go tonight."

"The moons are high, and you are weary. You will be of more use to us if you are well-rested. Go now, and may the All-Maker preserve you." Fen nodded, knowing Korst was right, and crossed the blood-strewn yard to Halfhand's home.

The cabin had been scrubbed clean since it belonged to Rigmor Halfhand, and now clean furs covered the bed and a large fire warmed the grate. Fen closed the door on the cold, suddenly grateful that Korst had told her to sleep. She pulled her blood soaked boots off her tired feet and left them by the door, then undid her tattered cloak and let it slide listlessly from her shoulders. Her robe where the wolf had bitten her on the waist was shredded, and blood coated her skin. When she had finally scrubbed the last bit of carnage from her body and donned a clean set of furs found in the wardrobe, Fen curled up on the bed beneath the bedrolls, a relieved sigh escaping her lips as she did so.

As she closed her eyes, all she could see were Julan's wide-open eyes, glassy and lifeless.


	12. Chapter 12

"_Are you proud of yourself, Nerevar?" He stood before her, arms crossed over his powerful chest, his face concealed behind a mask of gold. "Do you think you've done well for Resadayn? Do you believe they think you a hero?"_

"_I'm not Nerevar," she replied. "And I did what I had to do." Another appeared beside him, a Dunmer man dressed all in black, the burn of a fire spell torn through his middle. The first man she had ever killed._

"_Did you think you did well for me? I was only doing my job. I had a wife in Mournhold, and you made her a widow."_

"_You'd have killed me otherwise." More rose out of the darkness, Ashlander men with blood all down their fronts._

"_You murdered us so that you could be named Nerevarine of the Eribenimsun," one said. "You slaughtered us in cold blood."_

"_And me," said another, appearing, an aged wizard in dark robes with a bloody stain where his arm should be. "You rent me apart and blew my home to bits, just so the Telvanni would listen to you."_

"_I could not help my affliction," a new man said, his body mangled and covered in weeping sores. "I only wanted to go home to my children. I didn't want to hurt anyone. And you butchered me without a thought."_

"_I had to," she said desperately, turning to escape them, but there were more there, all faces she'd seen before, faces that had given her one last imploring look before they went blank. "You don't understand. I had to. I'm so sorry."_

_She turned away, and then _he _was there, his glass armour scuffed, a gaping, bloody hole through his chest, his eyes wide. He tried to speak, but could make no noise._

"_You killed him," the others whispered, vanishing and turning to wisps of smoke. "You murdered him. It's your fault. He'd be alive if not for you." Julan finally spoke, his pained eyes never leaving her face._

"_We'd all be alive if not for you."_

Fen gasped, her body starting violently. She was too hot. It was much too warm. Why were there so many furs on her? She shoved them away, but then it was too cold. The freeze seeped into her, into her very pores, chilling her to the bone, and she dragged the furs up over herself again. _A dream, _she assured herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. _I'd thought I was done with bad dreams by now._

Fen sat up and cracked the shutter covering the window over her bed. It was morning, but barely – the sky was a pale grey, the fresh, glittering snow that coated the ground still dark. Smoke had begun to rise from the chimneys of the neighbouring homes, and a few lights were visible in windows. The Skaal constantly reminded Fen of the Ashlanders – hardy and unrelenting, quick to rise with the sun.

_Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay here,_ she thought, shrugging off the furs and going to stoke the embers in the fire back into life. It would be strange, surely – a young Dunmer woman living amongst the Skaal. But they had already accepted her, had given her a home and a name. And there was not much left for her in Morrowind, it seemed.

Fen left her cabin just as the sun was rising, setting the snow aglow. Several other Skaal were about, most either walking to the longhouse or waiting by the well to draw water. They nodded at Fen as she passed, but otherwise were silent. The horrors of the previous night were still fresh on the minds of all.

It was a long, quiet walk southeast to the Tombs of Skaalara. The frigid island seemed oddly still on this pale, empty morning, not even a bird to stir the branches of the pines. The entrance to the barrow faced the sea, which was as cold and still and grey as everything else. Drawing Trueflame, Fen pushed her shoulder into the round, stone door and stepped into the dark, stale tomb.

She was immediately met by two werewolves, which she had been prepared for. It was easier to fight them now, when she wasn't in shock and hadn't just climbed out of an icy lake. She proceeded through the dark tombs carefully, cutting down the werewolves in her path as they came, unfazed until the image of Engar's slaughtered young son would creep back into her mind.

The Totem Korst had spoken of stood on a pedestal at the back of the tombs. It was a lavish thing, a convection of talons and fangs and feathers and beads all strung together on black twine. Fen carefully packed the Totem into her bag and made her way back through the Tombs.

Korst was waiting for her in the Great Hall, leaning heavily on his cane as he spoke to several of the Skaal Honour Guard.

"This are grim times, friend," he said as Fen joined them. She glanced around the hall – the bodies had been cleared, but the rubble and mess and splintered wood still lay everywhere. "Did you retrieve the Totem of Claw and Fang?"

"Yes," she replied, drawing it from her bag to show him. Korst caught the pendant in his free hand and leaned in close, his dark eyes studying the jumble.

"Aye, this is the Totem indeed. You have been more than a service to us, Fen."

"I just want to help," she replied quietly, and Korst nodded to the Honour Guard, who moved away.

"With Heart-Fang gone, I must act as chieftain for the Skaal, a task that I am not well-suited to, I'm afraid. All I can do at this point is offer them as much hope and prayer as I can. Perhaps the All-Maker will yet spare us from this curse." He sighed heavily. "Now that we have the Totem, we must perform the Ristaag."

"Which is what, exactly?" Fen asked him as they moved outside to stand on the Great Hall's vast porch.

"It is a ritual the Skaal perform in times of desperate need to show our thanks to the All-Maker," Korst told her, leaning heavily on his cane as he stared out at the village. A hush seemed to have fallen over it all, an odd chill that could not be shaken. A tall woman with red braids wound around her head leaned against the well, sobbing as her husband silently held her. "And this is indeed a time of desperate need. Meet at nightfall with Rolf Long-Tooth, one of our Skaal hunters. You will find him by the western shores of Lake Fjalding. He will tell you more about the Ristaag and the part you will play in it."

"How can I help until then?" Fen insisted.

"You have already done more than enough for the Skaal."

"I want to do even more, then. How can I help?" Korst sighed.

"All the people need now is rest. Rest, and time to mourn. There is little that we may do to help them."

"Here, then," Fen said, turning to the Great Hall. "I can help with this." Korst did not reply, but gave her a look that boasted a shadow of a smile before he turned and started across the snow to his cabin.

Fen spent the remainder of the daylight hours with the Skaal Honour Guard and a number of the stronger men, using telepathy and feather spells to help clear the rubble in the Great Hall. In the late afternoon, they discovered a child's body buried beneath several splintered beams, a grisly reminder as if to make sure none of them forgot about the previous night's slaughter.

When the wreckage was cleared, they emerged from the Great Hall to find that iron-coloured clouds were moving in over the evening sky, threatening snow as the wind began to howl. Fen silently donned her cloak and raised the hood, then started the short trek down to Lake Fjalding.

The snow was falling heavily by the time Fen found Rolf Long-Tooth with two other Skaal in a grove of evergreens just off the lake. Rolf was grey-haired and –bearded, but his eyes were fierce and he greeted Fen sharply and proudly, as any Nord warrior would.

"You are a great friend to the Skaal, Dark Elf," he said, firmly grasping her hand. "It will be an honour to please the All-Maker alongside you."

"What exactly is this ritual?" Fen asked, glancing at the other two Nords, both of whom wore similar expressions of confidence.

"In the Ristaag, we hunt the Spirit Bear that is conjured by the Totem of Claw and Fang," Rolf explained. "When it is slain, we will return its heart back to Wind-Eye, who will ask for the blessings of the All-Maker. If the Ristaag fails, or does not succeed by daybreak, the All-Maker will be displeased." Long-Tooth laid a heavy hand on Fen's shoulder. "You will act as my second, friend. You are to stay with me at all times during the Ristaag and follow my instructions exactly. You have proven value to the Skaal, but now you must allow me to guide you through this night." Fen only nodded in reply, but that seemed to please Long-Tooth.

"Right," Long-Tooth said, pulling a torch from his back and lighting it with a simple spell. He turned to the other two hunters. Sattir, you take the west end of the forest. Grerid, the east. Fen and I will take the south." The other two hunters drew their own torches and nodded, pulling up their hoods against the thickening snow. The sun had set completely now, and the forest was dark save for the distant glow of the fire on Lake Fjalding. Sattir and Grerid separated, vanishing into the heavy snow, and Fen followed Long-Tooth south.

"Have you ever hunted before?" Long-Tooth asked as they began to crunch through the thick snow that blanketed the ground. Fen shook her head; she had learned hawking at their summer palace in Tear and had been fairly competent with a bow, but that was the extent of her experience on the hunt. She remembered Shani smiling broadly, sitting on a log just outside the Ahemmusa camp. _Julan and I will teach you how to hunt next time you come around,_ she had said, and Julan had nodded with a grin. _You're going to need to be able to down a Nix Hound with one arrow if you're going to visit, _he'd added, elbowing her playfully.

"We won't be able to see any tracks in this snowfall, so the best we can do is search for entrails of the bear's prey," Long-Tooth was saying. "Search, and listen. Let the trees be your ears and we will surely find the bear." He had only just finished this pronouncement when the quiet of the forest was shattered by a man crying out and the sound of a struggle, then silence. "Did you hear that?" Long-Tooth said quickly, throwing out an arm to stop Fen. "It came from Sattir the Bold's Path. Quickly, go to him and see that he is well."

Fen seriously doubted that Sattir was well after the noises they'd heard, and her suspicions proved correct when she found his corpse behind a rock, viciously mauled and torn open just like the bodies in the village. Fen leaned down beside his steaming entrails, touching the snow that had been mussed in the struggle. She had quickly learned to recognize the work of werewolves.

"Sattir is dead?" Long-Tooth repeated when Fen relayed the news to him. She nodded, and the old hunter's face was troubled. "This is a bad omen. These creatures are dark spirits indeed, and they will try to disrupt the hunt. We must not tarry. Let us go."

They continued uninterrupted for some time, stopping to check for tracks under trees or dead elk in the groves for signs of the bear. Fen had to periodically shake the snow off her shoulders and her hood, for it continued to fall thickly, shortening their vision and freezing them to the bone. The forest was dark and very quiet, save for the wind in the pines above, and Fen couldn't help but jump slightly whenever a fresh sound permeated the silence.

They had been combing the forest for nearly two hours when a second scream rent the air, high and shrill, accompanied by a grotesque ripping and howls. Long-Tooth's face was grim. "Grerid. These creatures will not stop until they have disrupted our hunt. Quickly, find her."

Fen moved off east through the cold, slowing when she noticed light emanating from behind a tall stone. Sure enough, Grerid's body lay mangled in the black snow, her torch burning brightly beside it, her innards spilled out around her. She quickly jogged back to where Long-Tooth waited, shaking snow off her cloak.

"Grerid is dead, the same way as Sattir. It's the werewolves, I'm certain. We're being hunted as well, it seems." Long-Tooth gave a heavy sigh, rubbing his beard.

"Then it is up to us to complete the Ristaag, my friend. We must not fail our brothers and sisters of the Skaal." And so they trekked on through the snow, although this time Fen was not the only one acting tense. Long-Tooth's shoulders seemed to meet his ears every time the wind whispered or a wolf howled in the distance, and Fen could not blame him. She kept thinking she saw dark fur and yellow eyes out of the corner of her eyes and kept hearing heavy panting behind them, only to find nothing when she turned to look.

After another hour of walking, Long-Tooth stopped suddenly. He was staring into the darkness, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered. Fen was about to reply when the air was suddenly knocked from her lungs and, in a flurry of fur and teeth, she was on the ground, a werewolf's jaws at her throat.

Fen shoved her hand into the beast's chest and cast God's Fire, sending it flying off her, howling and leaving a stench of burnt fur in the air. Fen quickly got to her feet, drawing Trueflame, and saw they had been set upon by three werewolves, including the one Fen had blasted away. Long-Tooth was trying to take down two at once with his blade, so Fen quickly leapt forward to help with Trueflame. Long-Tooth finished off his wolf and turned to help Fen with hers, and soon both creatures lay dead at their feet.

"We…We have defeated those…those creatures and honoured our fallen c…comrades," Long-Tooth panted, sheathing his blade. "Now we must find the Spirit –"

Long-Tooth's pronouncement was cut short as the third wolf reappeared from nowhere, pulling the hunter back with lightning-quick speed and tearing out his throat before Fen could even register what was happening. She had kept Trueflame out, and she quickly raised it up to block the beast as it slipped over Long-Tooth and came for her. The wolf was badly burnt and near-death from Fen's spell and the impact of its fall, and it didn't take much to put it down.

When the last wolf was dead, Fen left Trueflame out for light, staring around. Long-Tooth lay dead in the snow before her, his pale eyes wide and glassy. Fen breathed a heavy sigh and glanced around. _Korst will still want the ritual completed, _she thought. _Which means I've got to find this Spirit Bear._ Fen clicked open her locket to check the time – it was nearing two in the morning. She would have to move quickly to make it back to Skaal village before daybreak.

She had been searching for nearly another hour when he came out of the darkness and swirling snow, glass armour and all. Fen almost wasn't surprised this time. She had almost been expecting it.

"I have to find a bear," she told him, aware of how stupid it sounded.

"I can tell. It's over there." He nodded his head in the direction Fen had been headed. They stared at one another for a while. Fen was afraid that if she moved too suddenly or spoke, he would vanish again. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"The…the bear…"

"No, what are you doing in Solstheim?" Fen frowned.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know." There was a sudden roar from the forest beyond, and they both glanced into the trees.

"You'd better get that bear," Julan said softly. Fen took several steps away from him, then looked back. He was gone, as she'd known he would be, replaced by darkness and swirling snow.

The Spirit Bear was indeed in the clearing beyond, fighting off a Riekling. When the little blue man fell, the bear turned its attention to Fen, and a few well-placed slashes from Trueflame coupled with Destruction magic quickly put it down. Fen looked at the clock again as she sheathed Trueflame – it was almost four now. She had to hurry.

She wasn't quite sure how to get the heart out of an animal, so Fen used her alchemy knife to slice open the great beast's bloody pelt. She was forced to cut through the entrails and organs within, biting back the bile that rose in her throat as she spilled the slick, steaming red innards over the snow. When she at last found the bear's heart, nearly half an hour had passed, and she quickly cut it loose and slid it into a burlap cloth to take back to the village beneath a cloth-black sky.


	13. Chapter 13

Fen was surprised to see Korst Wind-Eye standing stock-still in the centre of the village, his back to her as she approached, his neck craned upward at the sky, leaning heavily on his cane.

"I have the heart," she said quietly, approaching him. Korst did not turn. For a moment she thought he had not heard her.

"Thank you, Blodskaal," the shaman finally said, still staring up at the starless sky. "But I fear we must speak more of the ominous signs that have appeared on this island."

"What signs?" Fen asked softly. Korst sighed.

"There have been many, though I have been reluctant to speak of them. The coming of the werewolves, the fire on the lake…and now I've been told that the northern shores area scene of a massacre. Many horkers are dead. The shores are littered with corpses, and the death of the horkers has not been explained. All these things are suggested in the Bloodmoon Prophecy." Fen slowly walked around so she was facing the tired shaman, her face set.

"I think it's time you told me of this prophecy."

"It is an ancient Skaal legend that tells of the time before time, when a demon god would walk the lad. It is told there are signs that precede the Bloodmoon, and I fear we have been witness to some of these signs. But Fen, you must understand me. There still may be hope that the Bloodmoon Prophecy is not the cause of these misfortunes. I refer to think that it is the work of mortals. I would have you travel to Castle Karstaag and confirm my suspicions."

"I thought Fort Frostmoth was the only castle on Solstheim."

"Castle Karstaag is a colossal fortress of ice on the northwestern end of Solstheim that is home to the frost giant Karstaag. The Skaal have lived in peace with the monster for many years, but we have heard nothing from the giant for some time. This slaughter could be the workings of the Rieklings who serve him." Korst glanced up into the sky again, his face dark. "On the morrow, go there and find out what you can. You will not be allowed in the main entrance, but there is a tunnel in the waters north of the castle." Korst looked back down at her, his eyes heavy. "I must rest, and so must you. Leave me, Blodskaal."

Fen returned to her cabin and stripped off her bloody clothes in exchange for a woolen robe and bear hide slippers. Wind began to howl against the shuttered windows as Fen settled herself in a pile of furs before the fire with a book, too harrowed by the Ristaag to sleep.

_I've seen so much blood and death before,_ she told herself as she stared into the flames, thinking of fighting bandits in Vvardenfell, Almalexia's attack on the Day of Lights festival, the Clockwork City…

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the vision of the flames still lingered there. _That was different,_ she thought. _That doesn't count._

When morning dawned, Fen left the village and started north until she hit the coastline, then west. The sun was rising pale and watery over the restless, icy horizon, turning the sky shades of chilly pink and opal. The beauty of the morning was ruined, however, by the carnage that blanketed the coast. Horkers were piled thick upon the freezing shore, thousands of slick white bodies as far as Fen could see. Maggots had already found them, and the corpses were coated in the wriggling worms, sending the nauseating stench of rotting flesh and death floating along the waterside. Fen walked on a slight ridge just above the seemingly endless line of dead Horkers, trying at first to count them, then losing track and giving up. The bodies never seemed to end.

At long last, Fen began to make out an outline of a huge structure, rising out of the ground and ending in jagged-tipped spires. As she drew closer, the sun reflected off of the ice that had to be Castle Karstaag, which stood taller than the Tribunal Temple in Mournhold and almost as wide. The land surrounding the castle was lonely and silent save for the wind howling off the hilltops, so Fen circled the structure once, out of pure curiosity. There was an enormous door carved from the ice on one face of the castle, but, just as Korst said, there seemed to be no way to open it.

Remembering the shaman's words, Fen walked a short way north to the water and cast a mark upon the coast, just as a precaution. She waded into the icy waves, struggling against the shove of the Sea of Ghosts as she forced her head beneath the surface. Fen had grown used to swimming the frigid water by now, and the cold did not shock her nearly as much as it once had. She found the tunnel Korst had mentioned, a gaping hole in the ground.

Fen surfaced only a few seconds later, gasping as her head broke the water. Her breath echoed and she glanced around – it was a cave, that much was clear, carved from ice. This was certainly beneath Castle Karstaag.

Fen climbed up out of the water, using a mild fire spell to dry herself, and was pulling back on her boots when the sound of boots slipping on ice and a high-pitched squeal interrupted her.

"Whoa! Who's this now?" Fen snapped up to attention, sliding Trueflame from her belt in an instant, and the light from the blade illuminated a single Riekling standing before her, making no move to attack. Fen lowered the blade slowly, more shocked than threatened.

"Rieklings can _speak_?"

"I was surprised too, I didn't know elves had brains," the tiny man snapped back, and his voice was so high and pinched that Fen felt as if she were talking to an overzealous puppeteer. "A Dunmer, huh? Ugly thing, aren't you?" He slipped over on the ice and kicked her unceremoniously on the shin.

"Ouch!" Fen snapped, swatting him away with Trueflame. "What was that for?"

"Too tall. What business you got at Castle Karstaag? And make it quick, no time to talk."

"I'm here about the death of the horkers along the coast," Fen told him darkly, rubbing her shin. "To find out whether or not Karstaag had anything to do with it."

"Dead horkers? Mmm, rancid horker meat. You like horker meat?"

"What? No, I just want to know who's been killing them."

"Well, you're asking the wrong guy," he squeaked back. "I know someone who might be able to help, though. But I got my own problems!" Fen sighed.

"What problems?"

"The master – Karstaag, that is – he's taken off. Gone. Don't know why, don't know where." The Riekling tapped its blade on its boot, looking frustrated. "Didn't seem like he was coming back. So some of the boys and I figured we'd take over the place. Dulk has been running the show upstairs." He scowled. "Moron. Toady. Master's pet."

"So you took over…" Fen prompted.

"Right. Sneak attack. From below. Very clever. We even made a deal with some grahl to act as muscle. Didn't work out so well. See, these grahl aren't the most trustworthy. Turned on my guys. Ate 'em, actually. I'm the only one left. And now I can't even get upstairs!"

"Why not?

"Have you been listening, stupid? The grahl are in the way! And you can't get upstairs neither. See, no one can enter the castle without the mast – without Karstaag's blessing. Which I have. I figure, you help me get past the grahl, I'll get you into the castle. Then you can ask little Dulk anything you want. Deal?"

"Sounds fair," Fen answered, though she had no idea what grahl where. If the tiny man spoke the truth, it was the only way she would get into the castle.

"Good. Let's move it then. I'm Krish, by the way."

"Fen."

"That's a stupid name." Fen didn't reply, but led the way past Krish and into the ice caves. When she turned a corner, Fen realized she _had _seen grahl before – while she sought to restore the sun and took down the creature guarding the light trapped in ice. The grahl here were easier to take down, though, and the bizarre, red-eyed and long-tusked creatures looked far more threatening than they appeared. After Fen struck down three of the grahl, she turned back and saw Krish standing casually (or as casually as a Riekling can stand) behind her, picking out his nails with a tiny dagger.

"Were you planning on helping?" she asked irritatedly, sheathing Trueflame.

"Thing is, if I helped you, I'd probably die, and you'd never get into that castle. So I'll just watch. Moron."

Irritating as he was, Fen knew he was right, so she allowed Krish to wander behind as she traversed the caves and took down the grahl that lumbered through the darkness, ignoring his constant quips about her intelligence and choice of hairstyle. When the last grahl was down, Krish took the lead and trotted merrily through a tiny passage carved in the ice. It took some effort for Fen to get through after him – it was clear that the passage had not been designed for Karstaag.

"Ready, Fatty?" Krish asked as Fen stumbled out into a high-ceilinged storage room carved from ice, stacked with dented barrels and half-rotted crates.

"Lead the way," she replied, and Krish turned and waddled up a short slope and out of sight. Fen followed, and the sight that met her eyes nearly took her breath away.

They had emerged into what appeared to be a cavernous dining hall. The ice had been shaped to form a huge table that stood laden with heaps of molding food on stoneware, huge spilled pitchers of wine, several dented swords, even a dead Riekling. At the head of the table stood a massive throne of ice surrounded by bowls larger than Fen filled with teetering piles of skulls. Dozens of Rieklings crowded the ice benches around the table, shrieking in their tinny voices, squabbling over food, and generally making a great deal of noise. Even as they watched, one pulled out his dagger and stabbed his neighbor, then reached over and took a withered crabapple off his plate to eat.

"Hey, morons!" Krish shouted suddenly, and silence gradually fell. Only one Riekling on the far end of the hall continued shouting until another bludgeoned him over the head with a crossbow. "Where's that shitface Dulk?"

"You're not supposed to be in here, Krish," another Riekling squealed, and Krish kicked him, hard, in the shin.

"Shut up, Hob. Where's Dulk?"

"In the throne room, eggbrain," someone yelled, and a dead rat flew over the table and hit Krish square in the face.

"Shove it, toadtongue!" Krish yelled back, and he turned to Fen. "This way, stupid." The Rieklings turned back to their revelry as if they hadn't even noticed Fen, and Dulk led the way to an enormous door at the back of the hall.

At the top of a tall flight of slick stairs that Krish and Fen both stumbled on a number of times, they found Dulk perched on another huge throne surrounded by blue torches, eating a strip of salted meat.

"What are you doing here?" Dulk snarled when Fen and Krish came into the light. "The master will not be pleased! And you come with Krish! Evil, evil Krish! Krish is bad, and you are bad for helping him! What is it you want?"

"Stop yammering, foot-face," Krish snapped, and Fen quickly interjected.

"I'm here about the death of the horkers along the coasts. I need to know if you had anything to do with it."

"This was _not _our doing!" Dulk replied, looking affronted. "Not even Krish could have done this!"

"You –"

"What about Karstaag?" Fen interjected quickly.

"The master is gone, gone with the wolves! Big wolves! Evil wolves! Wolves that walk like men! Took the master days ago! No time for the fat horkers! And Dulk did none of this!" Fen frowned. Werewolves had been to Castle Karstaag too, and they had taken the giant just as that Imperial captain and the chieftain had been taken. "Yes, yes, master is gone," Dulk went on. "He must return soon. The wolves came and took him away. Big wolves, evil wolves! Wolves that walk like men! Left Dulk all alone! But the master will be back soon. The master must come back soon! Krish, _stop that_!" Fen turned and saw Krish was making an obscene gesture behind her.

"That's all you know?" she prompted, looking back to Dulk.

"Big wolves," Dulk repeated, his tiny feet kicking the base of the ice throne nervously. "Evil wolves. Krish, _stop it!_" Leaving Krish and Dulk to their squabble, Fen made her way back through the castle and outside, where night had fallen. The stars had begun to peek out from beneath the darkness of night, but something – she couldn't quite tell what – didn't seem right about the sky.

The night was dark and freezing by the time Fen returned to the village, the wind blowing as fiercely as ever. She was surprised to find that, despite the late hour, nearly all that remained of the village after the werewolf attack was outside, some of them speaking quietly amongst themselves, others staring up at the stars with dark expressions on their faces. Fen found Korst standing where he usually was in the centre of the village, gazing upward with all the rest.

"Have you learned more about the death of the horkers?" he asked, though there was no hope in his voice for a positive answer.

"It wasn't Karstaag," Fen answered. "Karstaag wasn't even there. He was taken by werewolves, just like the Imperial captain and Heart-Fang." Korst looked down at her, his face grim.

"I feared as much. Even Karstaag could not have caused such carnage. This is a bad sign, Fen, and I fear we have yet to see the worst. It is time at last we spoke of the Bloodmoon Prophecy." The words sent a shiver up Fen's spine, the way Dagoth Ur's name used to before she even knew who he was.

"Go on."

"The legend tells of a time that occurs once in each era, when a demon god will walk the land in the company of his Hounds, creatures of terrible might. He is The Hunter, ad his coming is preceded by three signs. I prayed I had misread the signs, misunderstood the prophecy, but…" Korst shook his head. "I do not believe it is so."

"What are the signs?" Fen asked quietly.

"The first tells of Fire From the Eye of Glass. His we have seen on Lake Fjalding, though I hoped it was the mere magic of the draugr lord. Next, the prophecy tells us of the Tide of Woe. Even now, our shores are lined with the corpses of the horkers, dead for a reason we cannot fathom. Finally, the prophecy tells us of the Bloodmoon, when the young moon itself runs red with the blood of the Hunter's prey." Korst raised a hand upward. "Look to the skies, Blodskaal. The third sign is upon us." Almost afraid to look, Fen raised her eyes and saw Korst was right – Secunda, the smaller of the two moons that orbited Nirn and usually shone a pearly white, now glowed a deep crimson, redder than its brother Maaser, and more feral, more hostile. The colour of death. Fen looked back down at the shaman's face and realized his face was bathed in the red of the small moon. "Now we wait for the Hunter's game."


	14. Chapter 14

Fen returned, exhausted, to her cabin, closing the door firmly on the freezing wind outside. Korst had spent the last hour explaining the Hunt to her, a game that seemed different ever time it happened. Men, sometimes entire tribes, sometimes single individuals, were taken to the Hunting Ground to be hunted by the Hounds. Korst explained that if they Prey could last through the Bloodmoon, the Hunter would leave the mortal plane and wait for a new era to play his game again.

"What can we do?" Fen had asked, glancing around at the Skaal that surrounded them, staring up at the sky with terror on their faces, faces painted red by the glow of the Bloodmoon.

"Nothing. At least, not until he makes his plan known to us," Korst had replied, leaning heavily on his cane. "Certainly, it will not be long now. I fear for our people, Fen," he had whispered, and his voice nearly cracked. "There is little I can do to protect them in these times. I can only pray to the All-Maker that he watches over us and keeps us from the Hunter's grasp."

"There has to be something," Fen had pressed, remembering Engar's son lying slaughtered in the snow. "There has to be some way we can help. Some way _I _can help."

"Sleep, then, Blodskaal," Korst replied, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. "We must be ready for the worst always, and you must regain your strength. There are dark days ahead, and we must try to have faith." But Fen could see clearly that there was not a shred of faith in his face.

She brought the embers in the grate back to life with a fire spell and hung her cloak before it to dry, then proceeded with the process of stripping off her damp, snow-soaked clothes, Korst's words still echoing in her mind. The idea of the Hunt sounded familiar, though Fen could not place where she had heard it. The shaman was adamant that there was nothing to be done, but Fen was sure that she would be able to find something, _anything _that could help them.

She settled herself on the bed, keeping Trueflame nearby for precaution's sake, and began going through the books she had brought with her, combing the pages for any mention of the Bloodmoon Prophecy or The Hunt. Fen was just thinking that she ought to teleport back to Mournhold to search the Royal Library as she began to doze, _Blood of the Divines _tumbling out of her hands and onto the floor.

"_Wake up." Fen turned, craning her neck to try to see where he was. She had heard his voice, so close. But where?_

"_Wake up!"_

"_Julan?"_

"_Fen, you have to wake up. You have to get out of Solstheim."_

"_I can't see you."_

"_Fen, WAKE UP!"_

"_Where are you?"_

"_FEN!"_

It happened suddenly. All at once she was awake and there was a searing pain on her forearm and she was crashing to the hard wooden floor, and her sight was filled with dark fur. Fen struggled to rise, feeling for Trueflame, as claws seized her arms, and all she could see was dark, dark fur and so many pairs of gleaming yellow eyes. Her fingers closed around the hilt of her blade as the cabin was engulfed in searing white light.

Silence pressed against her ears.

Then, slowly, everything came back. She could hear distant howls, cold air, water dripping steadily on stone, flames crackling. Her sight began to return, and she found herself face down on freezing stonework, one hand curled around Trueflame's hilt. Fen slowly pushed herself up, staring around. Her vision was sill bleary, and all she could tell was that wherever she was was very cold. She touched her aching arm, and when she brought her hand back she saw that there was blood on her fingers.

"_Ah. You've arrived._" Her sight flooded back to her, and Fen looked up to see some sort of…_being _standing before her. He was twice the height of a normal man, built with a powerful body, his muscled chest and arms coated in hair. His middle was covered by a vibrant blue cloth, his feet by tall, dark boots. And his face was concealed behind a mask fashioned from what appeared to be the skull of an enormous stag, its antlers reaching far out to either side. He stood with his legs apart, a tall silver-topped spear planted before him. Fen knew him at once, had seen him countless times during her studies, had read his name in so many dusty tomes.

"Hircine."

The Daedric Prince laughed.

"_Yes, clever one. The others have been here for days now, and you are the last. It is time for my Hunt, and you are to take part._" Fen slowly got to her feet, her hand tightening around Trueflame, never taking her eyes off the god before her. "_I have chosen only the most worthy to take part in my Hunt. Carius of the Imperials, Heart-Fang of the Skaal, the frost giant Karstaag, and you. Nerevarine, Princess of Morrowind, banisher of Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal. Saviour, they call you, and hero. You will be a great quarry to hunt._

"_You and the others are to find your way to my Hunting Grounds. Take great care, as only one of you will earn the glory of facing the Hunter himself in battle while the Bloodmoon lights the sky. The others have gone ahead, so only you remain to begin. Beware, mortal, for my Hounds are about, and they hunger for blood._"

"Is this your idea of a fair game?" Fen asked, opening her arms to gesture to herself. "I've one weapon, not a scrap of armour or a single potion."

"_Does the rabbit wear armour? Does the bear wield swords? No. In this game, you are prey, and you are outfitted as prey. Now go, prey. Perhaps I will see you soon._" With this pronouncement, Hircine slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and vanished in a cloud of red flame.

Fen stared around. She was in some sort of ice cavern that appeared to have been formed over a Daedric ruin. Before her, on the platform where Hircine had stood, a tall, slanted door looked like the only way out. She peered over her shoulder at the wound on her arm. It hurt, but not unbearably, and the cut did not look deep enough to be a problem. She didn't have a single potion and only Trueflame and her magicka to see her through this venture – she would have to live with the wound for now. Even so, letting it bleed freely would not have been wise. She lowered Trueflame carefully and tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her robe, then tied it as tightly as she could one-handed around her forearm.

Hircine had said to expect his Hounds, and Fen took that to mean werewolves. She was not looking forward to facing them in a sleeping gown and hide slippers without a single potion. Holding Trueflame aloft, she slowly pushed open the crooked door and stepped through into the Hunter's Game.

"_No! _Stay back!" Startled, Fen faltered by the doorway. The path curved off in two different directions, and lying in the crossroads between them was an Imperial man in scuffed gold armour with blood pooled beneath him on the ice. Fen lowered Trueflame.

"I don't want to hurt you." The man looked up at her, and Fen saw his face was scarred and lined, his hair grey, the shadow of a beard appearing on his cheeks. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes, and he looked beyond terrified.

"Oh! Oh, did he bring you here as well?" Fen quickly sheathed Trueflame and knelt beside him. His arms and chest were caked with dried blood.

"Are you badly hurt?"

"No, not badly. Just…just frightened, more. I'd just about given up and came back here to hide." Fen touched his arm and he flinched.

"Let me heal you," she said, reaching for him again, and he pulled away.

"No. No, we must conserve our magicka. Who knows how long this fell game will last?" He go to his feet with a sigh and offered a hand to Fen. "I am Captain Falx Carius of Fort Frostmoth, Imperial Warden of the North."

"I'm Fen."

"Fen, eh? I, too, have been brought to play this nefarious game, Fen. Since the werewolves captured me at the fort, I have been held here by this demon Hircine. Soon, others joined me: one of the Nords, named Heart-Fang, along with a beast named Karstaag. I believe the only hope for escape is to find our way through this maze."

"So it's a maze?" Fen replied, glancing around.

"Aye, that's what the demon told me. We are to fight or way through this maze, which is hunted by the werewolves the demon calls his Hounds." Carius gave a heavy sigh. "I am weak, friend, and have been here too long. Perhaps together, we can find our way to safety. We must find the key to allow us through the gate in the centre of the maze."

"I'm guessing you already had an encounter with these wolves, then?"

"Aye, and they are brutal monsters I would sooner forget. We ought to avoid them when we can." Fen agreed, and she raised Trueflame again for light. It was very dim in the ice caverns, and the sword seemed to be the only way for them to see clearly. They took the right path, and it wasn't long before Fen heard the familiar snarls and grunts of a werewolf around a corner. Carius drew his broadsword, and together they charged the beast.

The Imperial was right – Hircine's Hounds were ten times deadlier than the werewolves Fen had fought so far. Fen felt very naked without her usual myriad of amulets and rings and charms and bag of potions by her side, and it was all she could do to try to keep blocking the werewolf's blows with Trueflame's blade. Between the two of them, they managed to cut the creature down after a few moments, though both of them were bloodied.

"Do you need me to heal you?" Fen asked quickly, but Carius shook his head.

"I'm fine. Save your energy. We'll need it later, to be sure." A short way on, they came to a small pedestal against the wall upon which sat a red enameled circle about the size of Fen's palm, ornamented with strange black bindings and minute carvings in Daedric.

"The key, I presume," Fen said, taking it from the pedestal. She slipped it into an inner pocket of her robe. "Now we just need to find a way out of here."

"That will be easier said than done, I'm afraid," Carius said, and he soon proved to be correct. They continued through the walls of ice and stone, fighting off as many as four werewolves at a time. Fen wore only thin bed slippers on her feet, and the cold had seeped through far too quickly. They had no potions, and were forced to periodically stop to try to treat their wounds as best they could without magic.

"That's an unusual blade you've got," Carius panted once as Fen put an end to a werewolf that had been attacking. The werewolf gave a strangled snarl and folded into the ground, blood spraying the front of Fen's robe.

"I'm lucky I have got it," she murmured in reply, sheathing the blade and glancing around. Trueflame was their brightest light source, but it attracted the werewolves like moths to a candle, and Fen was more in favour of avoiding the beasts when they could.

"Could I ask where –" Carius began, but Fen held out a hand to quiet him.

"Listen," she muttered, peering around a corner with one hand on Trueflame's hilt. A faint humming seemed to emanate from beyond the walls nearby. She had heard that same noise before – from Aesliip's barrier, and before that, from Ghostgate. "We've got to be close," she said softly. "Keep your blade up." Quietly as she could, Fen turned the corner and tensed as she saw a werewolf rearing up before her.

But the beast was still. She moved closer, drawing Trueflame for light, and realized it was a statue, a perfect stone likeness of one of the Hunter's hounds.

"Let's keep looking," Fen murmured, turning away from the statue. But the moment she did, she heard a snarl and turned to see the werewolf animating, readying itself to leap off its pedestal and tear out her throat.

Carius jumped forward before Fen had time to react, slicing sideways and sending the beast sprawling to the side. It rose again quickly, leaping back toward Carius, and Fen quickly moved in to strike at it. Trueflame made contact, cutting through muscle and bone on the wolf's shoulder before it twisted away, its claws flashing out toward her. Fen moved back, just out of its reach, raising Trueflame to ward off its claws. She glanced back for Carius and saw that more of three more werewolves had joined the fight, every one clawing viciously at him. She turned again and hastily made short work of the statue-wolf, then spun to help Carius.

One of them had knocked the Imperial to the ground, its jaws snapping at his throat as he struggled to push it back, and Fen used a flamebolt to blast it away from him. Drops rained down from the icy ceiling and the werewolves backed away from Tueflame's glow, snarling. Fen moved forward, slashing at them, the stench of burning hair permeating the air as Trueflame cut through their hides. She felt the blood soaking her robe and did not stop, but continued to move with the instinctive swordsmanship Trueflame lent her until the wolves lay dead around her, their fur thick with matted blood. She felt a stinging on her face where one of them had managed to slice her, and when she touched the wound her fingers came away bloody.

"Carius," she said, sheathing her blade and leaning down beside him. The Imperial's face was sticky with blood, and his gold-plated armour was drenched in red. "Where was it?" she asked hastily. "Let me heal you."

"No," he replied, wheezing. "No, go on. You're young and strong, you still have a chance. Save your magicka. Get yourself out of this place." Fen closed her eyes tightly. If she could replace the cold in the air with fire, she could be back in the Clockwork City, her hands on Julan's bloody chest.

"I'm not leaving you to die here. If you won't let me heal you, then let me help you to the gate. We're very close, I know it. I can hear it." Carius stared at her a moment. A werewolf's distant howl broke the silence, and he nodded grudgingly. Fen stood, helping him stumble to his feet, and draped his arm around her shoulder. They continued around the corner, and Fen's suspicions proved to be correct. There, at the centre of a tall dais, stood a magical gateway with a single waist-high pillar before it. As they started up the stairs to the gateway, another howl broke the air, soon joined by others, and she could hear the wolves nearing.

"Hurry," she urged Carius, struggling to help pull him up the stairs.

"Leave me," he gasped, struggling to push away from her. "I'll only slow you down."

"I won't leave you here," she tried again, but the Imperial broke away from her and drew his blade.

"Go on," he said, falling to one knee on the stairs. "It would be kinder to let me die fighting." Fen stared at him, guilt wrenching in her stomach. "I…" Another howl broke the air. "Go, friend, and tell the others at the Fort how I fell with a blade in hand."

She was about to reply when at least twenty werewolves broke from the confines of the maze, their jaws frothing, their eyes yellow and murderous, riding on all four legs toward the stairs. Carius turned away, struggling to draw his sword to face the hounds. Hating herself, Fen turned and sprinted toward the gate, pulling the key from inside her robe. She slammed it into a star-shaped lock in the low pillar and watched as the magical forcefield became a gateway. Forcing herself not to look back, Fen leapt through the gateway, landing, hard, on the other side. She heard it seal behind her just as Carius's screams rent the air.


	15. Chapter 15

Fen slowly pushed herself up off the ground, grimacing at the pain. She reached for Trueflame, holding it close as she slowly surveyed her surroundings. She had hoped that the gate might end this Hunter's Game, but it seemed she was only in a new part of the maze.

"Fen!"

"Chieftain?" Fen felt her nerves ease as the white-haired Nord offered a hand to help her up.

"I had a feeling you would be involved in this cruel game as well, Fen," he told her as she slid Trueflame into its sheath. "We've little time, I fear. The frost giant Karstaag has gone ahead. Even now, I fear he may win this battle before me." Fen frowned at the statement, but Heart-Fang did not seem to notice. "Perhaps together we may find our way to the end. What say you?"

"Of course we'll go together," Fen replied uneasily. "There's got to be a way out of this place." And so she continued through the maze with Heart-Fang at her side this time rather than Carius, which proved to be far more helpful. Heart-Fang was a better warrior and in better shape, and his strategy was to go straight toward an attack werewolf and simply lop off its head with his broadsword, a method that worked well when the claws could be avoided. Fen helped where she could but it seemed Heart-Fang needed little assistance dealing with the creatures.

The way he had spoken, it certainly seemed as if Heart-Fang intended to play the game to the end, while Fen merely wanted to get out alive. Hoping sincerely that she was wrong, she continued alongside him, making quick cuts at the werewolves as they came.

Eventually Fen came upon a pedestal like the one in the first section of the maze, but his pedestal boasted no strange round key.

"Perhaps it fell off?" Heart-Fang suggested from where he was wiping blood off his blade behind her. Fen knelt to examine the icy floor around the pedestal and was peering around the side when she felt a blade point at her back.

"This is as far as we go, Fen," Heart-Fang said, his sword pushing into her back and making her skin prickle. "I have the key to reach the next stage of the Hunter's challenge, and only I shall continue. This Hunt is for Heart-Fang and Heart-Fang alone."

"We both have a better chance of living if we go together," Fen attempted vainly, trying to think quickly. If she reached for Trueflame, Heart-Fang would draw her through on the spot.

"_I _have a better chance of living if I defeat Hircine myself. We would have been pitted against one another eventually anyway. Better that it should end now. Many generations I have lived, Hircine's Ring on my finger. The Hunt is my birthright!" Fen turned her head as much as she dared.

"Hircine's Ring?"

"Heart-Fang alone shall face the Hunter. Heart-Fang alone shall earn the glory of the Hunt! See now the power I was born to wield! You now face Heart-Fang in his true from, the form he was born to wear!" Then, quite suddenly, the sharp point had dropped from the small of her back and there was a searing pain, forcing her to topple over onto her side. Fen gritted her teeth against the burning on her back and rolled to the side, drawing Trueflame. She turned and realized a werewolf stood where Heart-Fang had seconds ago, its claws bloody and its jaws quivering. Heart-Fang's broadsword lay abandoned on the ground.

The werewolf leapt at Fen and she raised Trueflame to fend it off. The creature snarled and attempted to shove her blade aside, but she managed to push it back and place a well-aimed slice at its neck. It seemed she had managed to hit an artery – blood began to pour thickly from the werewolf's neck, coating its pelt in sticky darkness. Fen backed up several steps and the werewolf let out a final howl before it staggered to the ground, blood pooling beneath its body. Even as she watched, the long hair began to recede into the skin, the snout shortened, and the ears flattened and white hair grew until Tharsten Heart-Fang lay dead upon the ground before her. She knelt beside him and noticed a small silver ring upon his outstretched hand. The ring was simple and unadorned save for a tiny engraving of a wolf's head. She was about to lean in to study it when the ring began to glow suddenly and shimmered out of sight. Fen felt something cold on her finger and glanced down to see the ring had appeared there, beside Moon-and-Star and Julan's dark telepathy ring. Fen carefully pulled the ring off and tucked it away into a pocket – she would have to experiment with what it did later. It would be a nasty surprise for something to happen to her in the middle of a fight.

Fen retrieved the next key from Heart-Fang's body and turned the corner to find another gate. She once more pressed the key into the pedestal and watched as a gateway appeared there. Tightening her hand around Trueflame, she stepped through the gateway.

A long corridor stretched before her, the end in shadow. Keeping a close hand on Trueflame, Fen began to walk, keeping her eyes narrowed on the dark room ahead. As she came to the end of the hall, a huge chamber came into view – a dark ceiling, supported by cracked and broken Daedric pillars, the walls all ice and stone. At the back of the room, another magical gate stood. Fen narrowed her eyes against the gloom – just as she had imagined, it was not entirely empty. The enormous, hulking figure of what had to be the frost giant Karstaag stood between two pillars, staring up at her with five thin, black eyes. A fur bearskin covered his middle, hung with two tarred elf heads, and his feet and hands had to be larger than Fen's torso. Two ram-like horns curved up from his oblong head, and his entire body was covered in a thick pelt of dirty grey fur, breached only by foot-long claws of dirt-caked black.

For a moment, Fen and the creature just stared at one another, and Fen half-hoped Karstaag would demonstrate the same peace to her that he had to the Skaal for so many years. But then he threw out his arms and let out a ground-shaking roar that caused Fen to stumble slightly, and before she could act he was storming across the hall toward her, his huge clawed feet leaving long scratches on the stone floors. Fen dove to the side, rolling down the stairs that descended into the great chamber. Karstaag tried to stop too suddenly and bowled into the stairs, crumbling them to bits. He let out a furious roar as Fen ducked behind one of the Daedric pillars. She gave a short breath, then briefly ducked out from behind the pillar to throw a fire spell toward the frost giant.

Karstaag screeched again, and with one long sweep from his claws the top of Fen's pillar went flying across the room. She ducked to avoid the debris and quickly flitted around the giant's knees, probing for a weak spot with Trueflame. It seemed that Karstaag had armoured skin beneath his thick pelt, and sharp as Trueflame was, she was finding it difficult to find a weak spot. Karstaag turned and swiped at her, and she ducked to narrowly avoid the points of his lethal-looking claws. Fen was reluctant to use her magicka without any potions to restore it for the next challenge that awaited her, but Trueflame was not making any difference and she was out of other options.

Fen quickly moved backward across the room, firing a barrage of fire spells at the beast. Karstaag screamed in fury and was there before Fen could act, his huge claws moving toward her once more. Fen ducked again, but wasn't as lucky – Karstaag's claws caught the side of her head and sent her stumbling over a broken pillar. Fen's vision swam – she could feel blood pouring down her cheek, but if she didn't get up now she would be finished.

Fen forced herself up off the ground, stumbling slightly as she fired off more spells at Karstaag, this time aiming for his eyes as best she could with her focus jilted. One of the spells must have hit – Karstaag let out a horrendous roar and his clawed hands flew up to shield his face. Fen seized a nearby pillar to steady herself and watched as the frost giant plunged his lethal, foot-long claws straight into his own five eyes. Karstaag screamed, wrenching his claws out, and dark blue blood poured thickly from his face as he stumbled in circles, blinded. Fen mustered the energy to cast one last spell at his feet, causing him to stumble straight into a wall of stone. The wall cracked and stone and dust rained down, burying the giant under the rubble. Fen sank dizzily to the ground as silence finally fell in the chamber, broken only by the clatters of small fallen rocks.

Fen touched the side of her head and flinched as pain pounded through it – her hand came away bloody. She was low on magicka, but the other option was bleeding out and waiting to die, so she carefully touched the wound again and cast a healing spell. The pain ebbed away and the dizziness cleared, and Fen stood again, glancing around. The chamber was very still and silent. She had only just started across the room to the portal when, in a swirl of light accompanied by the howling of wolves, Hircine appeared before her, his powerful, muscular arms leaning on his spear and his dark eyes glittering vindictively behind his mask.

"_So…you are the one. And now the game can truly begin._"


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm not here to play your game," Fen snarled, her free hand tightening into a fist.

"_That is a shame,_" Hircine replied. "_For you will play it anyway. You have escaped my hounds and beaten back the other challengers._" The Daedra chuckled. "_I had rather expected the giant to prevail. But he was beaten by the smallest competitor. Ah, but no matter. You have proven yourself a worthy hunter, and you have earned the greatest honour that can be bestowed upon a mortal._"

"Which is what, exactly?" Fen asked, dreading the answer.

"_You are to be my prey. We have little time – the Bloodmoon sinks low in the sky._" Hircine slammed his spear down upon the ground. "_Prepare yourself, mortal, for now you are the Hunted._"

Quite suddenly, Hircine's spear was hurtling toward her, its point sharp and quick. Fen rolled out of the way and the spear slammed into the ground, cracking the stone. She mustered her remaining magicka and let of a barrage of fire spells, forcing the god to stumble slightly. Hircine regained himself quickly and swung the spear around again as Fen ducked behind a pillar. The spear sliced off the top of the pillar as if it were made of bread, and Fen had to quickly roll out of the way to avoid being crushed. She sent another round of fire at him, and the air was thick with the smell of burning hair. He moved toward her again, his steps making the chamber shake, and Fen dashed around him, striking in vain at his legs with Trueflame. Hircine swung the spear around and nearly took off her leg before she managed to duck out of the way again.

Panicking, Fen cast an invisibility spell and ducked behind a pillar on the other side of the room, trying to stifle her heavy breathing. She had never been in a worse condition in a fight – she was tired and wounded, with Trueflame as her only weapon and barely any magicka left, facing a Daedric prince with a spear whose tip was longer than her torso. _I need help,_ she thought desperately, but there was no one to offer it. Teleportation magic did not work in the maze, and she had no amulets or scrolls to recall her. She glanced down at her finger, where Julan's dark, still telepathy ring rested beneath Moon-and-Star. And as she watched, time seemed to slow. The sound was gone from the chamber, and Hircine's earth-shattering footfalls and gloating taunts had faded into nothingness. Fen looked down at the ring again. The green stone had begun to dance with familiar light, and the metal grew hot around her finger.

Hardly daring to believe it, Fen raised her eyes and, sure enough, he was there, standing mere metres away, his face worn.

"I'm a mess," she said at once, and a smile flickered onto his face.

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"I'm about to die," Fen said crossly, annoyed at his cheeriness.

"What makes you think that?"

"I've no magicka left, I can't hit him with Trueflame, I'm tired…" she shook her head. "I'm going to die."

"If you're going to die, why did you call me?" Fen frowned.

"I didn't..."

"You needed help. So I came to give you help."

"But you're…you're…"

"I know. But I can still help you." Fen shook her head.

"I don't understand."

"Fen, I've seen you. You've been so close to giving up so many times since the Clockwork City."

"I…I just…"

"If you give up, then that means I died for nothing, okay? Do you want me to have died for nothing?" Fen closed her eyes, leaning heavily on the pillar. Julan was right, she knew it. She had known it, for the past two and a half years.

"But how –?" Fen opened her eyes again, and suddenly everything felt very real – the air was cold and Hircine was moving toward her again. Julan's ring was dark upon her finger. She glanced out from behind the pillar then looked down at her hands and a sudden feeling of strength coursed through her. She felt renewed, as if she had slept and woken up and had energy to spare. Fen closed her eyes and, for the first time in nearly three years, a genuine smile touched her lips. _Thank you, Julan._

Fen sprang out from behind the pillar and sent three spells of God's Fire, one after the other, straight at Hircine, feeling more in control than she ever had as the blistering heat seared loose from her palms. She heard Hircine stumble and roar, and before he could regain his balance she summoned a myriad of creatures and sent them swarming toward him. The distraction gave her a chance to get a clear aim at him to throw every destruction spell she could think of in his direction. Hircine roared in frustration and, with one smooth swipe of his spear, cleared all of Fen's summons from existence. He swung the butt of his spear around and hit her in the chest, sending her flying across the room to land, heavily winded.

Fen regained her breath with surprising speed and sprang to her feet, shoving the Daedra back with still more spells.

"_Enough, mortal!_" he screamed, sweeping aside her spells, his hair blackened and burned, his voice twisted with frustration. "_This ends!_" Fen darted around to one side of him, using his size to her advantage to pepper him with spells from all angles. Hircine was quick though, and the point of his spear stabbed all around her, cracking the stone and sending ice and rock flying. Fen was sure she was about to finish him off with a well-placed God's Fire when his spear struck the ground right beside her, cracking the earth and making her stumble.

Fen slipped and fell onto her back, and Hircine raised his spear high above her. The sight changed suddenly, and Hircine was Almalexia, his spear Hopesfire, and Fen lay on the ground of the Clockwork City, about to die. And then Julan came darting in, as he had a million times in her dreams, and as the blade cut through his middle he turned to smoke and then Fen was in the cavern again and Hircine was reeling away from her, screeching in pure, unbridled rage, his spear abandoned upon the ground.

Fen knew in a second what she had to do. Mustering up every bit of remaining magicka she had, Fen lifted the spear telekinetically, her arms raised high above her head. She felt sweat beading along her brow despite the cold and her arms shook with the effort of magically lifting the massive spear. As Hircine turned to face her, she threw her arms forward with all her might, and the spear shot forward and buried itself deep into Hircine's chest.

The Daedra let out a maddening, wolf-like howl, and he collapsed to his knees, ice and stone raining down from the ceiling. Fen, too, stumbled and fell, panting heavily as she watched Hircine slowly turn to dust to be swept away by some invisible wind. The portal activated suddenly, and Fen quickly sprang to her feet, seizing Trueflame from where she had dropped it and sprinting through the falling ice and rock toward the gate. She closed her eyes and dashed the last few metres, and just as the entire structure began to crack and come apart, she felt herself bursting through the portal, and all the noise was deadened and silenced as Fen was engulfed in cool, blue fire.


	17. Chapter 17

It was very cold. All she could think about was the cold and the wet. Slowly, Fen cracked her eyes open and felt herself shiver. Her vision was bleary, and she slowly sat up and realized she was covered in snow. And it was so bright…

Fen rubbed her eyes, letting the snow slide off her back. The sun. It was morning. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun had just risen past the horizon. Huge chunks of ice jaggedly rose out of the snow all around her, a few of them smoking and embedded with bits of stone and masonry. Fen slowly got to her feet, staring around. She was near the coast, she could see that, but that was all she could seem to gather from her surroundings. The smell of rotting horker flesh permeated the air.

She found Trueflame, burning bright as ever even in the damp snow, and sheathed it, glancing down at herself. Her nightclothes were torn and seared and blackened and coated in dry, crusted blood. She felt her hair hanging in a wild tangle about her head. She felt strangely empty.

Unsure of what to do, Fen made her way through the smoking chunks of ice and rock to the coast, where she turned east and began to walk. Her feet were long bare, and they had grown so cold that she failed to even notice them.

As the sun rose, Skaal Village came into view, the wooden cabins perched high upon a snowy hill, and Fen climbed up and saw the village was quiet, only a few people out.

"Fen? Is that Fen?" She turned and saw two of the Skaal Honour Guard watching her, eyes wide. "Go and get the shaman," one of them said quickly, and the other dashed away. "Lady Fen, we…we thought you'd died."

"I came awfully close," Fen replied, and the second guard came racing back with Korst Wind-Eye at his heels.

"Thank the All-Maker," Korst breathed, leaning heavily on his cane. "Then…the Bloodmoon is over, and it shall not return until long after we are gone from this earth." Despite the stares of the Skaal, Fen accompanied Korst back to his cabin, where he insisted she sit while he shakily put a kettle on the fire. "No one slept last night, not even the children," he told her, settling in his chair and leaning his cane by the mantle. "I had everyone move to the Greathall near midnight, to be safer, and when I sent someone to fetch you they said your home was a mess and you were gone. We feared the worst."

And so, haltingly, Fen explained all that had happened since her capture, deciding to leave out Julan's appearance.

"I had heard whispers on the wind of the fate of Heart-Fang," Korst said as Fen finished. He rubbed his beard, his eyes mournful. "He has been tempted by dark magic and was corrupted by it. I can only hope that our next leader will not suffer the same fate."

"I'm sorry," Fen muttered after a while. Korst gave her a puzzled look. "It just seems like…wherever I go, this sort of thing happens. Something goes wrong and people get hurt. I can't help but feel like I brought this on the Skaal."

"No, no, of course you did not, Lady Fen," Korst said quickly, shaking his head. "No, the Bloodmoon Prophecy would have happened with or without your presence. In all honesty, I believe we are very lucky that you came to us when you did. Had you not been there during the werewolf attack, I fear we would have lost many more." Fen leaned back in her seat, exhausted. Korst was speaking, but she felt warm for the first time in years, and she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. A sense of peace with everything around her, like her soul could finally rest easy…

"Fen." She forced her eyes open, realising that she had been dozing off in the warmth of the fire, and smiled apologetically at Korst.

"I'm sorry," she told him wearily. "I've just…had a bit of a long evening."

"Of course," the shaman told her. "You should rest."

"I can't," she insisted, getting to her feet. "I'm needed back in Mournhold. I need to take the first ship back."

"Always in a rush, young folk," Korst said with a smile, pushing himself up with his cane. He went to his desk, cluttered with leaves and books and scrolls, and drew an amulet from one of the drawers. "Know that you are always welcome here," he told her firmly, taking her hand and letting the amulet coil into it. Fen brought it up to see it clearly in the dim cabin light – a small charm, round and red with a black wolf's head inside. "You have saved us all from a great and terrible threat. Without you, we would have suffered a great deal more." He smiled slightly, weary behind his greying beard, and curled her fingers over the amulet. "Our hearths will always be open to you, Blodskaal."

It seemed as if the entire village had lined up to watch her departure as she closed the door on her small cottage, wrapped in furs with her hair plaited down her back. The Skaal smiled as she moved through them, clutching her hands and thanking her, saying she had the touch of the All-Maker and asking her to bless their weapons. Risi Ice-Mane hugged her tearfully while her other children looked on in wonder. Svenji Ice-Mane tugged at the end of her cloak, and Fen knelt in the snow to see the little girl.

"Are you a god?" Svenji asked quietly, and Fen smiled.

"No, child," she told her, and the girl looked relieved.

"Will you come back?"

"Someday, I'm sure."

Korst insisted that a few of the Skaal Honour Guard accompany her to Fort Frostmoth, and they traveled well enough, the sky clear and bright and the warriors friendly and easy to talk with. They told her of the history of Solstheim and the Skaal as they walked, and Fen was surprised to find that she might miss the frigid island and the hardy, kindly Skaal.

As they neared the docks of Fort Frostmoth, a great shouting drew their attention, and the Honour Guard glanced at one another, their hands moving to the pommels of their blades. They went around the fort to the dock, where a crowd of soldiers stood in a knot before the small skiff, jeering.

"What's going on?" Fen asked one of the soldiers, who stood back, leering and eating an apple. He only laughed. Fen glanced at the Skaal that had accompanied her, though they looked just as puzzled.

"I'm _telling _you, she's here!" The voice rose sharply out from the cluster of soldiers, younger and distinctly different, hoarser.

"That's a Dunmer," Fen muttered, and she quickly stepped forward, shoving the soldiers aside.

"Get back to your pretty tiled city and your yellow goddess with the big tits," one of the soldiers said, and the others laughed.

"No, no let _go _of me, you brutish – _Princess!_" The Dunmer stuck in the middle of the group had noticed her, and he pushed the guards aside, struggling to get to her. They knocked him back, laughing.

"_Enough!_" Fen shouted, and when they ignored her, she snapped her wrist into the air, a silence spell flying from her fingertips. The soldiers fell abruptly silent and stumbled back, puzzled. "Get back to your fort," she told them coolly, and the soldiers started back up the hill, glaring darkly at her.

"Princess," the Dunmer said urgently, hurrying across the dock to her. "Oh, thank the gods I've found you, these n'wahs were no help at all." Merill glanced down, recognizing the seal on his cloak as that of a Mournhold page. "You – you have to come now, Princess," he told her hastily, still trying to catch his breath.

"What's happened?" she asked, taking hold of his shoulders to steady him. _Why would they send a page all the way to Solstheim to get me? _Barenziah's face flashed in her mind and anxiety overwhelmed her. "Is it my grandmother?"

"No, no, Princess," the page went on. "Your father. King Helseth." Fen felt her stomach drop. _No. No, I'm just now getting to know him. Please, no._

"What –" She took a deep breath. "What happened?"

"He's been poisoned, Princess. He's dying."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Mysterious Akavir**_

_Akavir means "Dragon Land". Tamriel means "Dawn's Beauty." Atmora means "Elder Wood". Only the Redguards know what Yokuda ever meant._

_Akavir is the kingdom of the beasts. No Men or Mer live in Akavir, though Men once did. These Men, however, were eaten long ago by the vampiric Serpent Folk of Tsaesci. Had they not been eaten, these Men would have eventually migrated to Tamriel. The Nords left Atmora for Tamriel. Before them, the Elves had abandoned Aldmeris for Tamriel. The Redguards destroyed Yokuda so they could make their journey. All Men and Mer know Tamriel is the nexus of creation, where the Last War will happen, where the Gods unmade Lorkhan and left their Adamantine Tower of secrets. Who knows what the Akaviri think of Tamriel, but ask yourself: why have they tried to invade it three times or more?_

_There are four major nations of Akavir: Kamal, Tsaesci, Tang Mo, and Ka Po' Tun. When they are not busy trying to invade Tamriel, they are fighting with each other._

_Kamal is "Snow Hell". Demons live there, armies of them. Every summer they thaw out and invade Tang Mo, but the brave monkey-folk always drive them away. Once Ada'Soom Dir-Kamal, a king among demons, attempted to conquer Morrowind, but Almalexia and the Underking destroyed him at Red Mountain._

_Tsaesci is "Snake Palace", once the strongest power in Akavir (before the Tiger-Dragon came). The serpent-folk ate all the Men of Akavir a long time ago, but still kind of look like them. They are tall, beautiful (if frightening), covered in golden scales, and immortal. They enslave the goblins of the surrounding isles, who provide labor and fresh blood. The holdings of Tsaesci are widespread. When natives of Tamriel think of the Akaviri they think of the Serpent-Folk, because one ruled the Cyrodilic Empire for four hundred years in the previous era. He was Potentate Versidue-Shaie, assassinated by the Morag Tong._

_Tang Mo is the "Thousand Monkey Isles". There are many breeds of monkey-folk, and they are all kind, brave, and simple (and many are also very crazy). They can raise armies when they must, for all of the other Akaviri nations have, at one time or another, tried to enslave them. They cannot decide who they hate more, the Snakes or the Demons, but ask one, and he will probably say, "Snakes". Though once bitter enemies, the monkey-folk are now allies with the tiger-folk of Ka Po' Tun._

_Ka Po' Tun is the "Tiger-Dragon's Empire". The cat-folk here are ruled by the divine Tosh Raka, the Tiger-Dragon. They are now a very great empire, stronger than Tsaesci (though not at sea). After the Serpent-Folk ate all the Men, they tried to eat all the Dragons. They managed to enslave the Red Dragons, but the black ones had fled to (then) Po Tun. A great war was raged, which left both the cats and the snakes weak, and the Dragons all dead. Since that time the cat-folk have tried to become the Dragons. Tosh Raka is the first to succeed. He is the largest Dragon in the world, orange and black, and he has very many new ideas._

_"First," Tosh Raka says, "is that we kill all the vampire snakes." Then the Tiger-Dragon Emperor wants to invade Tamriel._

Fen let the book fall closed in her lap. It was the fourth time she had read it that week, and still she could not make sense of what it was trying to say. There was something there, she knew, but what it was she could not tell.

She put the book aside and dug through the other stacks that had accumulated upon her desk throughout the evening until she managed to draw out a desk clock that had gotten lost under the books and papers. The spindly gold hands read 3:32 in the morning. Nearly four hours Fen had been poring over _Mysterious Akavir,_ and still nothing. She set the clock aside and looked halfheartedly at her tea, perched atop a stack of books, which had undoubtedly gone stone cold since it'd been poured. Fen leaned back in her seat, instinctively reaching to fiddle with Julan's telepathy ring on her finger. It had been three years since she had seen him in the Mortaag Glacier, five since the Clockwork City, and she still wore the ring constantly, holding on to the slight hope that he might appear again, if only briefly.

As Fen stood to stretch, only then realizing how tired she was, she heard hurried footsteps and a hand fumbling with the door to her study. She took hold of Trueflame, sitting on a small table beside her desk, and rested a hand on its hilt, ready to draw it out, when the door finally opened and a serving girl stumbled in, looking exhausted.

"Oh! Your Grace, please excuse me, I thought you'd have gone to bed."

"That's quite all right," Fen told her, relaxing and lowering Trueflame onto the table. She folded her dressing gown closed, tying the lace over the front as she gestured the girl into the dim study.

"There's a man here, Your Grace. From Ald'ruhn. He says he needs to speak to you urgently, and he looks…disheveled."

"From Ald'ruhn?" Fen frowned.

"Yes, Your Grace." The man was indeed disheveled, to put it lightly, Fen saw as she entered the audience chamber, flanked by guards. His dark hair had been singed and half burnt off and his clothes were torn and blackened with soot. A purple bruise had begun to form across his face and blood ran down one cheek from a nasty-looking cut beneath his hair. He was barefoot, and barely standing.

Fen looked angrily to the guard on her right. "What is the meaning of this? Get this man healer at once." The guard nodded once and hurried back to the Imperial Cult shrine. The man on the ground coughed, spitting up blood onto the stone floor.

"P – Please, Your Grace, I must speak with you first." Fen knelt beside him, taking his shoulder and helping him sit upright. "There has been – a g – great attack on Ald'ruhn, a horrible attack."

"An attack by whom?" Fen asked urgently, struggling to keep him upright as his eyes drooped.

"Some sort of portal opened just outside the gate, Your G – Grace. Daedra spilled out, horrible, h – horrible Daedra, and so many, destroying everything, killing everyone they saw…" he coughed again, blood dribbling down his chin. "There weren't enough guards, they were destroying the city, they were…" He doubled over, wheezing violently. The healer emerged from behind the thrones, hurrying toward them and already opening his bag, and Fen quickly stepped back to let him go to work.

"Send a messenger to Andasreth," she said hastily to one of the guards beside her. "Armour him well, and see if this is true and try to see if any of the councilors are still alive."

"Not directly to Ald'ruhn, Your Grace?" the guard asked, keeping in step with her as she started back toward the Upper Palace.

"I don't want anyone teleporting into the middle of a town overrun by Daedra," she replied quickly as the doors were swung open for her. "And rouse Effe-Tei and my grandmother, ask them to come to the main reception chambers. And Vedaves and Ethaso and Athesi. Raram too. And Karrod." The guard nodded once and careened off down another hall while Fen continued the brisk walk down through a courtyard and into the main reception chamber. A servant quickly bustled in after her to light the lamps as Fen anxiously circled the table. It seemed like only a day ago she had been here in conference with her father and Duke Dren, discussing the Imperial colonization of Solstheim that had led to her participation in the Bloodmoon.

"What's happened?" Fen turned and saw Barenziah had entered, her snowy hair loose around her shoulders. A second later Karrod hurried behind her, fully armoured, taking up his position on Fen's right side.

"It seems the attacks that are happening in Cyrodiil have begun here as well," Fen said as a few of her advisors hastily joined them around the table. "But all we have to go off of are rumours, as we've had barely any correspondence from the empire since Uriel Septim was assassinated."

She did her best to explain what she believed to be happening, and as she finished, a messenger from the infirmary came in to tell her that the man from Ald'ruhn had died.

Not long after, the messenger from Ald'ruhn retuned, haltingly describing the confusion he faced in the city.

"I didn't see any people, just bodies, everywhere. There were loads of Daedra, more than I could have ever imagined, just walking about the place, going around all the burning houses and shops. Skar was completely sideways, half-buried in the ground, and that portal was still open, all red and firey and spilling out more Daedra every minute."

The other Great House Councilors were summoned to Mournhold, and they had all arrived by the time dawn broke. Fen had dispatched nearly five hundred men to Ald'ruhn with no word back. They worked late into the next night, sending letters and messengers and pages for everything they could think of, trying to work out a way to understand what was happening. It was only when Velanda Omani slipped off her chair in exhaustion that they called for a brief recess.

"Have we sent word to the other provinces?" Fen asked, for the third time, as she and Effe-Tei left the chamber together, Karrod close behind.

"Yes, Your Grace," the Argonian replied, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "And we have not heard from any of them. All we know is that the city of Kvatch has been destroyed, likely in a way similar to Ald'ruhn."

"A fine job Ocato is doing, not even telling us what's happening," Fen snapped irritatedly. "I tell you, Effe-Tei, if it were not for the economy and trade revenue we get from the Empire I would have broken off Morrowind long ago."

"Your Grace." A passing page stopped and bowed as she neared him, then quickly stepped forward. "There is a man here wishing to speak with you."

"Who is it?" Fen asked, pausing and rubbing her eyes. "A councilor? I told the steward to –"

"Not a councilor, Your Grace, someone different. He will not tell us his name, only that he must speak with you immediately."

"I don't have time to see every man that strides into Mournhold demanding an audience at once," Fen replied shortly. "Surely a steward can –"

"He refuses to leave without a personal conversation, Your Grace." The page quieted, but looked as if he wanted to speak again.

"What is it?" Fen prompted tiredly.

"I do think you should receive him, Your Grace. He does not look like he is…uh…Tamrielic." Fen gave the page an odd look, but he quickly bowed again and went on his way. She glanced at Effe-Tei, who shook his head.

"I would say it is worth investigating, Your Grace," the Argonian told her.

The man was indeed not from Tamriel. He stood with his back to Fen as she entered the small reception chamber where he waited, and when he turned she found herself more caught off-guard than she had imagined she would be.

"Ah, Queen Fenara Almalexia Helseth," he said, his voice strangely slurred in some places and accented in others. "You are as fair as they claimed you were in the stories." His eyes were a pale sea-green, bright beneath heavy brows, and while his bronzed skin was smooth, it seemed to bristle like fur when he moved. Dark stripes started at his cheeks and disappeared into finely ornamented armour of gold and steel, etched with designs of flowers and vines. He wore his dark hair down his back in an intricate braid tied with hanging cloth knots. For a moment Fen could only stare, taken aback as she was by the stranger's appearance. Once she regained her composure, she held out a hand for him to take and offered a tired smile.

"I don't use the name 'Almalexia' anymore," she told him. It had been years since anyone had addressed her as such. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of this…unexpected visit?"

"I am Shavir Baadar Raka Ka Po' Tun, Lady Queen," the man said, bowing deeply. "And I have come for an audience with you."

"I am sorry to be forward," Fen began as Shavir straightened. "But I am going to hazard a guess and say you are not of Tamriel." Shavir smiled, his slanted green eyes bright.

"They said you were clever as well, Queen Fenara, and I had a feeling it was true. No, I am not of Tamriel. I hail from Ka Po' Tun, called the Tiger-Dragon Empire in your tongue, a land across the Padomaic Sea known as –"

" – Akavir." Fen finished for him, and Shavir smiled again.

"Quite so, my Lady Queen. I am surprised you know of my land. It seems few Tamriels understand where I come from."

"We have few resources in the way of Akavir," Fen told him, gesturing for him to sit. "And those we do have are considered incomplete or inaccurate."

"Yes, there is certainly a…poor history between our nations," Shavir said, almost amused, accepting a cup of flin from a serving girl.

"If I may be forward again, serjo," Fen began, gesturing for the servant to leave. "Morrowind is faced with a very uncertain time, and I have urgent business I must attend to. I would love to entertain you as a guest for as long as you wish to stay, but I'm afraid you've come to Mournhold at a very inconvenient time."

"Ah, but good queen, I have come at the most opportune of times." He leaned forward on the table, green eyes flashing. "I was once in the service of Emperor Tosh Raka, His Divine Holiness and Lord King of the Ka Po' Tun. When we conquered the dragon-men, Tosh Raka became a dragon and was known to be divine. He plots to invade Tamriel and consume it in his dragonfire."

"The Akaviri have made attempts to destroy Tamriel before," Fen replied skeptically. "They never ended well for Akavir."

"But this would be different. Tosh Raka has been preparing for this battle for many years, more than you could think to comprehend. He has our own armies at his back alongside those of the Tang Mo, and the Akavir are anxious to exact revenge upon the Tamriels that once wronged us." There was silence for a time, Fen's scarlet eyes boring into the Akaviri's sea green ones.

"Why are you telling me this?" She finally asked, and a small smile twitched at Shavir's lips.

"We are very loyal to our king, my Lady Queen, but we live a long time, and we have all seen many years of suffering. We do not desire war. If you could come with me to Akavir and plead your case to Tosh Raka, we believe that you could convince him to forge a peace between our nations. And, if you can broker that, we can help you with the crisis here."

"How?" Fen asked skeptically.

"In our capitol city of Kavir S'Raka Tosh is the greatest library in all the world. My people have been on this world far longer than yours, and our scholars and sages have acquired all the great knowledge in the world. I spoke to them before I departed for this world." His sea-green eyes glimmered. "They assured me that there is an answer to your problems within their shelves." Fen returned his gaze readily.

"I wish I was in a position to leave at any time, serjo, but I cannot up and abandon my people, especially now. Perhaps I could send an emissary back with you in my stead…?"

"No," he replied at once. "No, it must be you. Tosh Raka will not hear the words of any others. You must be the one to speak against the war." Fen rubbed her eyes. They knew very little of Akavir on Tamriel – she had no idea if this was some sort of plot to get her out of the way or if the strange Khajiit-like man sincerely wished to help her. It was impossible to know. _But I'm running out of options. _

"How long is the voyage to Akavir?" she asked after a time.

"Half a day, in a good Ka Po'Tun vessel."

"That quickly?" Shavir nodded.

"We have magicks that make travel easier." Fen stood.

"I won't be able to give you an answer until I have a clearer idea of what's going on in the rest of Morrowind," she told him. "I hope you'll be able to stay until then."

"Certainly," Shavir replied simply. "But I would not tarry too long, Queen. For the fate of both our countries rests on this decision."

Morrowind's fate, at least, was looking grimmer and grimmer as the hours wore on. Fen had been building up a standing army during her reign as queen in preparation for resistance from the Empire when they eventually seceded, but it was not near enough to control the situation. The Imperial troops had been recalled to Cyrodiil to defend their own cities. The Redoran had started to fight, she'd heard, but it was a losing battle. It seemed like they were brought more news of desolation across Vvardenfell and the mainland every few hours.

Barenziah, to her granddaughter's surprise, did not seem overly shocked at the Akaviri's proposition.

"We don't have many other options at this point," she'd said grimly as they took a brief break from the council on the terrace over the gardens.

"I could go see one of these gates," Fen had suggested. "See if I can figure out how to close it myself."

"You're one person, you expect to close every one? And on the chance that you get killed, Morrowind will have no heir and will fall into chaos again."

"I've done an awful lot that gives me the chance to get killed and it hasn't happened yet," Fen reminded her. Barenziah sighed.

"The decision is up to you, my dear," she said. "If this Akaviri speaks the truth, we may be able to learn a great deal from them." Fen stared out at the tired, cloudy sky over Mournhold, the silent gardens and the bustle of the great city beyond.

"Then I'll go," she said firmly. "I will do anything to protect my people."

The other councilors were much more surprised than Barenziah, most expressing skepticism. Fen challenged them to find a better solution to the Daedra portals, though, and they were silent. The following morning dawned pale and pink, the shell-coloured sky greeting them as the cart trundled into Necrom. Fen sat in the back, looking up as the day drew to an end, Azura's star shining down at her. They'd left hours before daybreak, her, Shavir, and a small retinue to get them safely on their way. She'd been unable to sleep last night, instead writing a short letter to the Dunmer people to be distributed the next day, explaining that she had gone to find answers and would be back within a week. Her grandmother had said little before they left, fixing her with a knowing look and promising that she would look after Morrowind. _They need someone,_ Fen had said. _They need someone to look to while I'm gone._

They did not cause a scene when they entered Necrom. Fen's letter had not been sent out yet, and she didn't want to cause a panic riding through. Shavir had left his vessel slightly to the north of Necrom's docks, and they were unhindered as they followed the road out of the city.

The Akaviri commanded them to stop just as Necrom dropped out of sight, though Fen could see no boats along the coastline. The guards and laymen that had accompanied them looked confused, but jumped down and began unloading the wagon all the same.

"Where's your ship?" Fen asked, her boots squelching into the muddy shore.

"You don't expect me to let it get stolen by Tamriel thieves, do you? Here," he said simply, and he drew his arm in a wide, simple arc. The water, still purple with the reflection of the setting sun, began to churn, turning over itself and bubbling as a mast emerged, then a prow, and, gradually, an entire ship rose out from the sea, water spraying off its decks. The vessel was unlike anything Fen had ever seen – carved from some sort of twisted wood, hung with green-glass lanterns, outfitted with a sail made from some sort of woven hide and painted with bizarre, angular designs. It was a small ship, but Fen still couldn't imagine how one man could sail it alone. The laymen, too, looked baffled, but with a word from Fen they proceeded to carry the supplies on board, staring up at the strange carved wood and muttering to one another as they did so.

"How does that work, exactly?" she asked, shouldering her bag and making sure Trueflame was in place on her belt.

"It's a simple enchantment," Shavir told her brightly. "I can teach it to you when we reach Ka Po'Tun."

"Perhaps on a visit," Fen replied firmly. "I need to figure out how to stop these attacks and get back to Morrowind as soon as possible."

"Of course, Lady Queen."

"You sure you don't need a crew, Queen Fenara?" one of the guards asked her as the laymen stored the last few crates and jogged through the shallows to the shore. Fen glanced at Shavir for an answer, and he smiled his strange, catlike grin.

"No, thank you, friend, but an Akaviri ship takes only one man to sail." He nodded to Fen. "When you are ready, Lady Queen." He turned, wading out into the surf and climbing lithely up onto the deck.

"Thank you," Fen told the guards and the laymen, and, to her surprise, they all suddenly sank to their knees in the mud before her.

"Don't be too long in Akavir, Queen Nerevarine," one of them told her, and the others murmured agreement. Fen bade them to stand and one of the guards met her gaze readily.

"You were the first person to bring the Dunmer hope in hundreds of years, my Queen," he said earnestly. "Morrowind could not go on without you."

"I won't be more than a week," Fen assured them, trying to keep her face blank, but she was touched by their sudden devotion.

Fen turned from them and followed Shavir into the surf, climbing up and jumping over the railing into the ship. When she turned back, she saw their her retinue standing at attention, their arms outstretched and holding up four fingers toward her, the traditional Dunmer salute to a great hero. They stood stock still, each with a hand held out, their faces stoic. Fen straightened her back and returned the salute, giving them a nod. The sky was growing darker now, and the wind pulled a few hairs loose from her braid and made them dance around her face.

"Are you ready, Queen Fenara?" Shavir asked her from the steering deck, and she looked back at him and nodded. He went to the prow of the ship and raised his arms, green light winding from his palms and down his arms, soaking into the very wood of the ship. The great vessel shuddered, its sails unfurling and filing with wind as it lurched and turned suddenly, pointing out toward the vast emptiness of the Padomaic Ocean. Fen stood at the rail, watching as the jagged cliffs and hills of Morrowind began to drop away.

_I've grown so much, _she thought, her hands curling around the rough, carved railing. She thought of how lost she'd been that first day in Balmora, stumbling into the cornerclub and shrinking away from Caius Cosades in fear. She remembered how blindly she'd traipsed around Vvardenfell, gradually growing stronger, braver, as she worked spells and enchantments through her fingertips, fought off adversaries that blocked her at every turn, the first time she'd killed a man. Remembered when Moon-and-Star had fallen into her palms, when Azura had spoken to her and told her of her destiny. She thought of the conversation she'd had with Hasphat Antabolis in the Fighter's Guild, how he'd asked her the question that had stuck in her mind for years: _What about you? Are you going to change the world? Or just be carried by the flow?_

She supposed she'd changed the world, though that seemed like such a grand way of putting it. It had been her fate as Nerevarine to put an end to Dagoth Ur, but it was her own love for Morrowind that led her to push even further than that, to strike down the names of the Tribunal and take her place as queen after her father's death, change the way the Dunmer viewed the world from a grim perspective of ash and death to one of light; of hope. And now she was going to Akavir to help again. To save Morrowind. _Because that's why I did all of it,_ she thought. _For them. For my home and for my people._

She slid Julan's dark telepathy ring from her finger and held it so that it perfectly encircled the setting sun, letting the metal grow warm to the touch. Fen remembered when she'd found him, about to be decimated by the clannfears she used to tease him relentlessly about. She remembered how her frustration in the world had boiled over then, how she'd shouted at him and grudgingly agreed to let him follow her for a time. Fen closed her eyes, letting the ocean spray cool her face. _He died so that you could live. _She knew that now, that the Ahemmusa had memorialized him as a hero for saving the life of the Nerevarine. And she knew that he was proud of how he had gone. And that he was proud of her.

So she let herself look forward. She stepped away from the stern, going to join Shavir at the prow and look out at the endless ocean that stretched out before them. She would go to Akavir and return. And when she did, she would continue to live as Julan would have wanted her to – for her people. The night had almost completely taken hold of the sky now, and Fen looked up at Azura's star, fading into the darkness but still there, watching over her.

And so Fenara Helseth, the Queen of Morrowind, the Nerevarine – but really just Fen – turned her eyes forward, into the great unknown.


End file.
